Socks

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Do somethings always go missing for no apparent reason. This wacky short story shows you the not so true places where your missing items end up.

Submitted: September 02, 2016

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Submitted: September 02, 2016

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“Jake! This is the 1926th time you’ve lost your socks,” screamed Mum “You are so irresponsible!”."But Mu-" I tried to argue. "No buts," screeched Mum "Go find your socks now, or you'll lose your trip to Disneyland!".

Mum just dropped a bomb on me. Trips to Disneyland cost over 3000 dollars, not even including the airfare! I've also heard some bad rumors about Disneyland refunds, so I'm not taking any chances with her. An extra fact, Mum has the memory of a whale when it comes to my screw-ups, I have no idea how she keeps tracks of those numbers.

My socks always end up in some weird place, such as one time when Mum complained to the plumbing company that our kitchen pipe was clogged, they found one of my socks that had probably been in there for days. I prayed my usual luck of finding socks stuck with me this time.

I immediately went to work, turning the house upside down. I looked around the dryer, poked my head into the oven, scavenged inside the shed and climbed our lemon tree. Usually, I'd find it within ten minutes, but today my luck ran away into the wilderness. Another 30 minutes passed and still no Pacman socks. 

I asked my little sister Mary about my socks. I'd never ask her anything since she is the worst sister ever such as when she vomited into my mouth when I was trying to get her to eat her brussels sprouts (I don't like brussels sprouts either). But since this was an urgent and life-threatening situation, I took the world's biggest plunge. She only said that she'd seen our dog, Starbucks (no it's not the cafe, Mum insisted on the name) poking around my stash of socks. 

I sprinted at 60 miles per hour to Starbucks's kennel. I poked my head into his kennel. He looked as if he was about to hurl straight at my face. I ran away and braced for impact. But Starbucks didn't puke. Then I realized that he was choking on something. I thrust my hand into his slimy dog-breath throat and reached something. It felt soft and fluffy with fur. I wondered whether he had eaten another wild guinea pigs as I pulled it out.

 I couldn't believe my eyes. I questioned whether this incident could cause brain damage, affecting my ability to tell the difference between real-life and dreams. It was my Pacman socks. I've heard of dogs eating homework but not dogs eating socks! Maybe I could sell it as a new phrase and get rich. "Mum!" I screamed.

 


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