An open letter to the Sock Phantom.

Dear Sock Phantom

Some years ago, coincidentally with the arrival of my first child, you apparently took up residence in my house. I have never seen you, but I am certain that you exist. I have the following questions for you:

  1. Why is it that you feel the need to leave your droppings all over the house? I find stray socks in the oddest places and cannot account for any other way they may have reached these places if it is not you moving them around.
  2. Why is it that you persist in tormenting me by following me around the house as I collect stray socks for the washing and depositing new socks in places I have already cleared?
  3. I am concerned about the unfeasibly high rate of divorce amongst socks. Rather than mating for life, many of you choose to transport yourself through the washing machine portal to parts unknown, leaving your partner to live out the reminder of their lives as a solitary single in the sock bag. Does this worry you too?
  4. I do appreciate that with eight people in the house, there may potentially be as many as fifty-six pairs of socks in the washing on any given week. But why must you use your special phantom powers to ensure that of the one hundred and twelve socks which go into the washing, inevitably only eighty-two return, and those eighty-two seem to bear no relation to each other? I can only assume that there are some returns through the washing machine portal as individual socks realise that life without their partner is, in fact, empty. How sad they must be when they are returned to the sock bag to discover that their partner has been donated to the sock glove puppet production line, or indeed the big green rubbish bin.
  5. Can you please explain how it is that socks are able to change their size on a whim? There are many so-called “pairs” which cannot possibly fit on one person’s feet by the disparity in their size.
  6. Lastly, sock phantom, why must you rip the heels out of perfectly decent socks? This is cruel and unusual punishment and provokes outrage in the sock wearers.

Thank you for your consideration of these matters. I would prefer that you vacate the premises immediately and forthwith, but understand that this request does fall outside the bounds of probability. If you could do your best to reduce the incidences of the above, I would be very appreciative.


An over-worked mother

PS If you could see your way to having a conversation with the Shoe Phantom about its need to leave a trail of shoes up and down the stairs and in the hallway for people to trip over, and its reluctance to keep the shoes on the shoe shelf where they belong, I would be very grateful.

Categories: Uncategorized | 5 Comments

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5 thoughts on “An open letter to the Sock Phantom.

  1. Love this! As a runner, I purchase special (and overly-expensive) socks to prevent blisters. If the Sock Phantom gets at them; I get pissed! I’m not a mom yet, but can imagine how frustrating this overlooked element of daily life could become.

    Thanks for such a fun read!

    • Thanks for stopping by Katie! Oddly the Sock Phantom seems to strike the children’s socks more than the adult’s… so you might be OK! Do come by again!

  2. You had me laughing out loud. I am convinced that the person who can solve the missing sock conundrum with some sort of washing machine device will become the richest (wo)man alive. We have a decorative box that is filled with nothing but poor, single socks. I am mystified when a sock that’s been missing for a month or more suddenly reappears out of the ether. Where did he go? I hope, at least, he had a great adventure!

    • I know that my kids add to the confusion by wearing odd sod socks from time to time when they can’t find a pair! Thanks so much for stopping by and reading Rian, and then for pinging me back! Your freshly press yourself was just great and so generous.

  3. Pingback: The Pressables | Truth and Cake

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