Warm Socks

You know what kinda sucks in the morning. Not being able to find a clean pair of socks. I was tempted again not to wear socks to work but thought otherwise, since words like discomfort, odor and foot disease kept nudging me in the head.

Out of options and desperate, I did the ultimate taboo and gathered the courage to rummage through my fathers wardrobe cabinet. Usually I wouldn't have the balls to do so, my father being very picky about people disturbing his stuff and all. But since he was away with my mom honeymooning at some distant land, he probably wouldn't even notice (Hell would ensue if he did of course).

Finding a pair of comfy Grey ones, I put them on and was hit with the realization that I haven't worn any of my father's clothes since my days in primary school. I remember every time he'd be off out-stationed, I'd go and rummage through his clothes looking for something to wear. Don't really know why, but I kinda enjoyed the feeling of his big clothes over me, the ends dragging on the floor when I walked around. The fabric felt comfortable and had my father's familiar scent, and was probably why I liked it so much. It wasn't long before my brother would do the same, and we'd end up being a pair of legless torsos skimming across our house parquet floor.

A warm fuzzy feeling enveloped me and made me realized how much we kinda missed our father when he was away. Probing further in to the memory, hoping to rekindle something more, a sudden chill jolted me. I suddenly recalled that my father didn't appreciate the idea of his favorite clothes being dirty, stretched and torn when he got back. The aftermath was usually not pretty. Feeling a lump in my throat, I swallowed and reminded myself to wash and put the socks back nicely as they were before he comes back.

-- Blogging off....