ISO: my missing $7.50 sock.


so i bought a pair of socks about two months ago with my son, Thing 2 (11).

he needed new sneakers because the leather ones he insisted on wearing had a smell all their own. we bought the socks when we bought the sneakers.

the old sneakers (not the new ones) smelled like garlic and cat piss.

I. Kid. You. Not.

we used to think that there were dying muskrats in the house or musk anything in the house when he would remove them.

so we went to a local running store to get new ones.

“what about your quest for equanimity? to just let things be?” you ask?

“what about my quest to exist in my home without searching for SCUBA tanks?” i retort.

the guys at the running store Have Great Legs. it is very coincidental that they’re all about 24 years old too.

T2 tried on a pair of nice running shoes. i wanted to get him mesh ones so that they could breathe too. after all, if he was going to kill another pair of sneakers with his foot’s death stench, they should at least be able to breathe.

he liked them, they had to order them in his size.

“come back wednesday, they’ll be in then from our blahdeblah store” said a blonde guy who looks like this:

So we go back a few days later.

When we return, we were met by an employee who looked like this:

“how about some socks to try them on?” i squeak-ask, twirling my hair and twisting my toe into the carpet.

so the guy and his dimples who looks like the man in the second picture above floats to the rack and summons a pair socks, “any favorite color, buddy?” he says to my son.

“green. i like green,” says T2. “look mom, they have your favorite, periwinkle!” he adds.

the green socks waft magically to my son as the man who looks like the man in the second picture above gestures his hand in T2’s direction.

i’m doing my best to keep it together, man.

the man who looks like the man in the second picture above looks at me and says, “oh? periwinkle? that’s a great color. it’s >DO NOT SAY “MY MOTHER’S” … DO NOT SAY “MY MOTHER’S”< my grandmother’s favorite color.”

a part of me died inside.

“oh, your grandmother’s? is she 44?”

no, i didn’t say that. rewind the tape >deedlweedletweedlweeetloodledeedle<:

“oh, your grandmother’s? it’s a classic color, very serene and comfort– oh, you have a pair in my size in periwinkle? great….”

“you’re what, a small?” and he commands the socks that are his grandmother’s favorite color to land on the new sneaker’s box.

T2 is racing around the store, “i loooove these shoes, mommy! they make me so faaaast! these socks are so comfy!”

“i love it when kids say that the shoes make them faster…” the man who looks like the man in the second picture above said. “i used to say that when i was little …”

“yeah. me too. what?” i said. i mean, i did NOT want to imagine the man who looks like the man in the second picture above as younger.

“so, that’ll do it for you both? would you like to try on any shoes?” said the man who looks like the man in the second picture above.

“no. i uh, i’m wearing these because, um, i was gardening. these are my scuzzy gardening sneakers. my running shoes don’t garden. they’re at home… i take fitness very seriously.”

WAKE UP man who looks like the man in the second picture above!

i think i put him to sleep.

“c’mon mom! let’s go home! i wanna show these to brothers and dad!”

so we walk to the register. $65 shoes becomes $99.

what the what?!

“debit. oh, here, i’ll sign. all the machines are so different, i never know where…”

i don’t care. the man who looks like the man in the second picture above is smiling; yellow feathers are popping out of his mouth. i am the canary.

i was in the cage, like this:

when i wanted to be out of the cage, like this:

we get home. T2 shows off his sneaks and everyone’s excited.

the breadwinner (that’s my husband’s new blog identity) asks about their cost because he wanted a pair just like them a few months ago but they were out of them and i tell him,

“$65, but the socks added $30. >wince< pleasedon’tfaint.”

the breadwinner? oh, he went out to get bread and never came back.

i tried on my socks the next day. they were awesome. in fact, they are guaranteed for life … they better be at $7.50 a pop.

after that, i lost one. i never actually ran in them.

i’m a little bummed about that. so if anyone sees the right one to this one:

please let me know. we can go tell the man who looks like the man in the second picture above all about it.

thank you.

UPDATE, 8/21/12: I found my sock! It was in my son’s laundry! It smelled clean! I don’t know how that happened!

About Grass Oil by Molly Field

follow me on twitter @mollyfieldtweet. i'm working on a memoir and i've written two books thus unpublished because i'm a scaredy cat. i hail from a Eugene O'Neill play and an Augusten Burroughs novel but i'm a married, sober straight mom. i write about parenting, mindfulness, irony, personal growth and other mysteries vividly with a bit of humor. "Grass Oil" comes from my son's description of dinner i made one night. the content of the blog is random, simple, funny and clever. stop by, it would be nice to get to know you. :)

8 responses »

  1. i love going to that store to "shop" for shoes. even the women, excuse me, young ladies are awesome. it's like walking into a living fitness ad. Hmmmmm……maybe it's time to buy a new pair of running shoes. want to come and "help" me?Terri the not so anonymous.

  2. i would love to. 🙂 call me. yes, the young ladies are awesome there, but those guys… it was too funny not to write about. the thing is: I WANT THAT FRIGGING SOCK BACK! it took me awhile to distill this into a funny story, i mean, all of that happened (well, the dude didn't float and have magical powers) and the internet is SO great with its resources that … well, it makes the experience all that much richer, now don't it? 😉 xo

    • i was robbed. we turned a $65 trip into $99 with very little effort. the socks though, i have to say… (wincing), they are very supportive. i am wearing them now, which i probably shouldn’t because they are compression socks.

      where are my feet?

  3. Just hate, hate, hate when my expensive socks lose their mate. My “Sock Guy” bike socks are outrageously expensive, but they are too cool not to wear. I’m convinced that one of the pair comes alive and hops out of the laundry into some random place, never to be found again. Or sometimes I find the mate, and then the other one goes missing. What’s up with that? True story!

    Oh, and the smell of kids’ shoes? Holy cow. No girl should have such stinky feet as my daughter. I swear it’s like dead rat wherever her shoes are left.

    And if you like the looks of the guy at the Running Shoe Store, volunteer at an Ironman event…best legs walking around there EVER!

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