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  • Writer's pictureAnyBritt

The Overly Dramatic Death of My Socks

Updated: Nov 3, 2019

Like many children in elementary school my favorite subject was gym class, especially on being told that the snack and lunch recesses did not count as subjects. One particularly exciting unit in gym happened for a couple of glorious weeks every winter. It was a time when they unrolled great, big, red wrestling mats used for all sorts of games. The mats created an environment where risks were rewarded far more than in the mundane realm encapsulated by the regular gym floor. The mats were not incredibly thick or squishy, but they gave a sense of security where you could safely launch yourself onto them without injury.


It was one of my favorite times of year, but one day when crawling upon the red mat that should have filled me with a delight seldom known to any but children, I instead felt a sense of utter loathing and disgust from the bottom of my very core.


On that fated day I had worn a most beauteous pair of socks. They were not your average, boring white socks.

No.

These were white only in that they provided a white backdrop for a heard of dozens of pink flamingos to roam upon.

Yes,

my socks beheld that eccentric bird that was so renowned, for not only did it have more incredible balance than the most dedicated yogi, with its one legged stance, but it also was one of the few creatures that naturally turned pink from a shrimp filled diet. My socks, however, did not depict just your ordinary flamingos. They weren’t some dumb, nerdy flock. No sir-y Bob. They were cool flamingos, and how did I as a fourth grader know they were the epitome of cool? The answer is obvious. They wore sunglasses.



I of course loved these socks with their sunglasses-wearing flamingos. I was proud to wear these socks on a day when we’d be roaming the mats on the gym floor. It was the perfect opportunity to have my socks seen and appreciated by my peers, as they would not be forced to remain hidden in my shoes but could let their full glory shine out in the open for all to see. This vanity and pride at my possession of such a magnificent pair of socks, would ultimately lead to my downfall, just like many tragic heroes of old.


Perhaps another important note to be made relates to why the heck you would wear socks while running around on a wrestling mat? Wouldn’t socks make you slip and fall and merely make the entire experience more perilous?


The simply answer is yes.


Socks provided an added level of challenge to the mats, as the odds of slipping were exponentially increased. No self-respecting child, at least not one with any sort of competitive leanings, would choose to wear socks if left to their own devises. We, however, did not have a choice in the matter. We were not allowed to step foot on the sanguine mats without some sort of socks, be they of the exclusive flamingo variety or merely plain white it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the socks be socks.


As a child this made no sense to me, but it was a precaution against things like foot fungus. Those mats were probably coated in dirt and sweat and other unspeakably gross things so it was probably for the best that our feet remained protected, but I would discover something far worse than any of these and it would prove fatal.


I was ready to play on the mats in my flamingo socks. Upon taking them out of their hiding place inside my shoes I received many complements on how totally awesome they were. I of course feigned humility, but inside I ate up the compliments like a toddler might eat a birthday cake. In a greedy sort of way, utterly ignoring utensils in favor of hands and embracing the inevitable mess whilst consumed by the rapture of sugary bliss.


I was fired up to play whatever game the gym teacher had decided upon for that day and it turned out that it was one of the classics, “Snakes in the Grass”. This game was a form of tag that we only played on the mats. It was one where a couple a kids started out as the only snakes and then they had to crawl around on their knees stalking their victims. For a snake to stand was a breach of the rules and not tolerated under any circumstances. Also as one of the humans, being forced off the mat was also akin to forfeit. The snakes seemed to possess some sort of disease equivalent to that of a zombie for when they caught you you were then transformed into a snake yourself. We children did not dwell on the irony in becoming the very monsters we had vowed to defeat, but rather simply joined in spreading the snake-zombie virus to as many as possible.


This tag game was also not your ordinary tag where simply touching an individual was enough to transmit the snake poison to its victim. We were on the mats so an added level of danger was deemed acceptable somehow by our teacher. In order for the snakes to win they would gang up on victims. The means of transforming a child into a snake was to knock their legs out from under them and force them to the ground. Once a kids knees were brought down to the mat the transformation was complete. They lost the use of their legs and had to crawl along with the pack hunting for victims.


I prided myself on being particularly fast and competitive and thus was usually one of the last survivors in the game before the snakes inevitably over-came me. I also was a very effective snake. I was able to take down my prey on my own most of the time without the help of the pack. I only needed to grab onto my victim and then I would mercilessly force their knees to buckle so they would collapse to the ground and join the ranks of snakes in the grass. This process was only risky in that there was a high chance someone would sit on you with their butt. Being touched by butts was the inevitable risk of a solo snake mission in that forcing someone’s legs to buckle and fall meant that their butt inevitable also had to fall and land somewhere. As an incredibly competitive child I saw the risk of butts to be a small matter when compared to the glory of taking down and defeating herds of terrified children. When I was a snake my mission was to end the human race and create a world solely populated by serpents and I took that job very seriously.


I mercilessly crawled around destroying my enemies and ever creating more allies. In the frenzy of my bloodthirsty desire to win the game it took me a long time to notice anything was wrong. I didn’t notice till near the end of the class when the epic battle for survival between snakes and humans ended for the umpteenth time with the snakes ever victorious.

I looked down at my cool flamingos and my blood went cold. I could not believe my eyes. On one of the socks there was a white piece of gum smooshed into the sock right over one of my beloved flamingo friends.


It was the most disgusting thing I had ever witnessed and I freaked out. It was not only disgusting in that my sock had gum on it, but I was disgusted by the state of humanity that someone could possibly deposit their gum onto the wrestling mat that I was crawling on. What kind of despicable human being would have allowed gum to drop from their mouth onto a mat filled with children, or even worse perhaps they intentionally spat it onto the mat as a means of disposal, like how other such scum might place their gum under an unsuspecting table. Such a despicable creature as would do this ought to swallow his gum and choke on it, I thought as well as other bitter and hate filled thoughts.


I desperately tried to get the gum off of my sock, but it was squished into it from my crawling and so seemed to be a futile effort, and also I found it utterly repulsive to try and remove and handle the piece of gum. I was desperate to remove it though, because I needed to put my gummed up sock back into my shoe for the rest of the school day. This forced me to deal with the disgusting gum and remove as much of it as I possibly could before putting on my shoe and returning to class.


After school let out and I had returned home I told the story in lengthy and horrific detail to my mother and oldest brother, Christopher. I really drew it out to add to the suspense and traumatic nature of what had occurred. I told the story multiple times to different family members. I was glad to be able to tell this terrible war story to the rest so they could know the depths of my suffering.


I went to tell my older sister whom I always greatly admired. I got started on my long story that I had planned to stretch what could have been a one sentence account into tens of minutes, when Christopher stepped in. He shrieked, “She got gum on her sock! I ruined it! I ruined it!” He said it in a high pitched, silly voice so characteristic of my family and leaped away. My sister laughed and everyone found it very funny. I would have too except that he truly had stolen the heart of my story and reduced the gut wrenching tragedy that had occurred to a trivial joke.


Matters were only made worse when I presented the tainted sock to my mother to see if, with her magic cleaning powers, she could resurrect the flamingos. She tried her best and, though the sock was mostly cleaned, the one always looked funny. They were never the same. For all intents and purposes those cool flamingos died that day. My mother had only made them alive to the extent that a brain dead coma patient can be considered alive. They lived in my drawers and upon seeing them I’d feel a sad pang of regret, but I seldom, if ever, wore them again.


The moral of the story is to cherish your socks while you still can, especially if they have cool flamingos on them. Also overly long and dramatic stories are easily ruined by older brothers so tell with caution. Lastly DON’T SPIT YOUR GUM ON MY GYM MATS! EITHER THROW IT AWAY OR SWALLOW IT BUT DON’T PUT IT ANYWHERE ELSE!!!!!

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