Dirty Socks
- Aug 9, 2021
- 1 min read
Lofi Cowboy Bebop in the background as the sun peaks thru the canopy outside. I sip my hazelnut coffee and relish in the peace of early hours.
This morning a stark contrast to the goings on of the previous night where Elizabeth revealed to us a months-long game of 'Hide the treasure' where the treasure in question was socks not sent to the hamper.
'DIRTY socks??!' You may ask.
Perhaps not 'dirty' socks. Worn, for sure.
Worn for at least a half day and later peeled from the feet of an 8 year old who waited around corners for months hoping for her parents to find them in her brilliant hiding spots.
She set little landmines throughout the house and yesterday I stepped on every one of them.
Her gap-toothed grin, unwavering dedication to the game and tears of laughter were the only thing keeping her safe and she decided to let us in on the con.
Which worked in her favor because - and I say this with certainty - the next dirty sock I found stuffed into a place it doesn't belong was getting stuffed up the nose of whoever wore it last.
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