In case you are wondering what that is pictured above, I can confirm that it is in fact, not the world's saddest hand puppet. It's a dingy, hole-y sock. With my hand in it.
The saddest thing about that sock?
It's on my foot right now.
In the lottery of late-in-the-week clean clothes, this guy and its mate (equally hole-y, by the way) are the winners.
They are the king and queen of the sock drawer prom.
I would like to mention in my defense that the gross dinginess of these socks may be attributed to the fact that I have worn these outdoors without shoes already this morning ... and not solely due to my lackadaisical housekeeping.
A little bleach and they will be good as ... well, they will be bright and clean.
Before you tell me to go get some new socks, for Pete's sake, let me tell you about another incident this week:
I was speaking at a work-related gig to an audience of about 30 or so professionals when I felt the slightly distracting creep of my pants' zipper heading south. My part at the podium was brief and so I discreetly tugged at my sweater set (of course!) to cover any possible offending revelations and stepped away. But make no mistake: the barn door was open.
You see, my fly had been inexplicably doing that all morning. A check in the ladies room revealed that one of my two trouser buttons had gone missing, thus making way for the repeated opening of said barn door. These were my favorite black slacks; the ones that go with everything and look great on me. They fit great (loose at the waist!) and so I would be determined to save them. Thankfully, I still had the other button to hold my dignity in its proper place.
Until I didn't.
That remaining button flew to destinations unknown as I stepped out of the car at lunchtime. The only things holding my pants up at that point were my child-bearing hips.
... Which brings me to my next point ...
My teenage son has grown about 10 inches in the last two years. He's pushing 6' 2" and still moving upward. Last Saturday evening, his dad and I raced out to buy him a new pair of black slacks to wear to honor band the next day when we saw the ones he was wearing to a church function that night had popped up to the top of his (new, larger) shoes. Just two weeks earlier, those pants had fit him just fine.
At some point this weekend, father and son will go tux shopping for the kid's required concert band attire. That nice suit I bought him last year? Ridiculously small now. That goes along with a steady stream of jeans, shoes, and socks right now flowing through our house.
And so, Mom (and Dad) will make do in the wardrobe department in order to make room in the budget for more urgent needs.
That's what parents do.
Back to my black pants ... I got through the remainder of my day thanks to a safety pin. The zipper was actually broken and so they had to be retired, and other black pants I already owned called into active service.
As for my sock situation ... I was at the doctor's office recently in socked feet and mentioned that I was embarrassed by the worn condition of my footwear (though not nearly as bad as the ones pictured above). The doctor laughed, kicked her right shoe off to reveal her big toe peeking through a hole.
"I have kids too," she said.
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