Coffee Break with Liz and Kate

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There are more than a few worthy holidays coming up in the next few days – Mother’s Day, Victory over Europe Day, Clean Up Your Room Day, Eat What You Want Day, and Frog Jumping Day to name but a few. I figure most are holidays that we are either a. well aware of, or b. capable of finding appropriate ways to celebrate.
While I feel compelled to remind you not to forget Mom today, I feel equally drawn to call your attention to  Lost Sock Memorial Day.

Are there any among us who can say they’ve never lost a sock? There can be but one explanation (albeit illogical) for this quandary: sock gremlins.

Sock gremlins work on several levels. Some lurk in the washing machine. Most tend to be fond of dryers and clothes lines. If you don’t believe me, consider this: where does all that lint in the lint catcher come from? I mean, really. Another select few – mostly rogue gremlins who like to live on the edge – hang out in laundry baskets. Certainly those are the most dangerous of the sock gremlins.

The ingenuity of these little gremlins can not be overstated. Should they feel like they needed to make a point, I wouldn’t put it past them to take one sock from every single pair we own, leaving us to face the world with nothing but mis-matched socks. Blue with brown, off white with polka dots, or (Heaven forbid) black dress socks with tube socks. My advice? Don’t tick ‘em off.

More disturbing is the fact that the gremlins take our focus off the real victims – the lone surviving mate, who, after a futile search for a match ends up stuck in a drawer – probably in the company of at least a few other mismatches. You know it’s true. We forget about the survivor sock because we’re so busy trying to find the match.  Reminds me of the Island of Misfit Toys.

Clearly, Lost Sock Memorial Day is a holiday worthy of a date on the calendar. Sure, the obvious way to pay tribute on this day would be to remember the lost socks, hoping they’ve been spared an unthinkable fate like being stuffed into stinky sneakers. But perhaps it’s those lone socks that are most deserving of our happy thoughts. Those socks that stay in the drawer for years at a time, packed away with the seasonal wardrobe changes, then unpacked and tossed to the back of the drawer again, in the false hopes that the other half will surface under a chair cushion, in one of the kids’ drawers, or behind the dresser. It’s a situation that usually has an all-too-familiar ending. It might take weeks or months – even years – but at some point, we usually give up, sending the lone sock to that big clothes line in the sky.

The perpetual epidemic of the lost sock has ended triumphantly only one time that I recall. Former co-worker Becky Oliver found a missing sock after an extended period of time a few years back. It was a shining moment indeed. But for each of the triumphs, there are untold stories of sock tragedies.

Perhaps the only way to put a dent in this travesty would be to safety-pin our socks together each time we send them to the washing machine. Sure, we’d have to worry about the safety-pin gremlins, but that’s another story.

I realize Lost Sock Memorial Day is a real downer, so we’ll refocus at this p0oint and look forward to Friday for some foot-stompin’, tail-feather shakin’ holiday fun. Yep, you guessed it, it’s  Dance Like a Chicken Day!

I first became acquainted with this best-ways-to-look-like-a-dork dance at Kentucky Thoroblade hockey games. It’s a dance that’s easy to catch on to regardless of the dancer’s age (or sobriety, for that matter).

If you aren’t familiar with the chicken dance, simply remember these four simple steps. Configure both hands into duck beaks (think back to shadow puppets), and “cluck” four times. Then tuck your hands under your arms to make wings. Flap four times. Twist your booty to the ground four times, and clap four times. Voila, the chicken dance – at least for the most part. You may want to practice before taking your new talents public, though. The longer the song lasts, the faster it gets, until all participants are, well, all clucked out.

Until next week, get your party on!

-Liz

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