Sock it to me

Yesterday was swim day at Mark's spring break camp. I dropped him off in a t-shirt and bathing suit. When I picked him up, he was wearing sweat pants and...well, a new accessory.

"Are those your socks?" I frowned, pointing to his ankles. I was sure I'd dropped him off in matching socks.

"Yessssss, Mom," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Both of them?" I asked.

"Yes, Mom," he sighed. "Geez, what do you think, I stole someone's socks?"

Well, yes, actually. That was exactly my thought. But he scurried away before I could say anything else.

He kicked off his shoes as soon as we got home. That's when I noticed the insignia on his black sock, an insignia I had never seen before (as the resident laundress, I am familiar with all of the clothing insignia in the house!). I realized that was not, in fact, Mark's sock.

"A-ha!" I said, perhaps a little more gleefully than necessary. "I knew this wasn't yours! What'd you do, just grab the first sock you found?"

"Yeah," Mark admitted. "They were yelling at us to get dressed, so I just took that sock."

"You wore some other kid's dirty sock?" I asked, gagging a little.

"It's not that dirty," he said. "Besides, it's black, so you can't see any dirt anyway."

Ewww, I thought. Mark and I definitely have different standards when it comes to clothing (and hygiene).

"And it matches my outfit!" Mark told me, proudly pointing to his black and white t-shirt, and his black sweats with white stripes.

It wasn't really that big a deal until we went shopping after dinner. Mark pushed the cart through Target, stopping suddenly in the men's section.

"Oh, Mom," he said. "I need more socks."

"You...what?" I asked. Sometimes I can't believe the chutzpah this kid has.

"New. Socks." he said slowly.

"I. Heard." I answered back. "No, you have plenty of socks, they're just all in your hamper. Do some laundry--it'll be like getting 50 new pair of socks."

He snorted--that was not what he wanted to hear. I'm pretty sure he thinks socks are disposable, not washable.

"Besides," I said, nudging him in the chest. "Looks like you already got some new socks today. At least one new sock, anyway."

I giggled at my own joke, which Mark didn't think was nearly as funny as I did. (He never does.) He shook his head and ran off with the shopping cart.

And then I let it go. It wasn't the first (or last) time Mark swiped somebody else's clothes, and I'm glad it was just one random sock this time. Well, glad for Mark, anyway, who likes to wear his socks over and over again, until they're so filthy they actually walk themselves to the washing machine. At least today I knew he was wearing one semi-clean sock. And somewhere out there, some poor kid was suffering a much worse fate--wearing Mark's disgusting other sock.

Yuck.