I am in quite a quandry over the socks. (22 days and gathering dust). D2, who was the last person to wear them, has returned to London for a month. She has left the contents of three suitcases strewn across her bedroom floor and pairs of shoes, clothes, dvds, cds, magazines, teddies, toiletries and various carrier bags with goodness knows what in them dotted around the house. On reflection the chances of her picking up the socks was always miniscule but it is now non-existent, for a month at least. Herein lies my dilemma. Do I await her return and continue the battle of wills, knowing it was 1999 when I last won one of those against her, and in the meantime leave the possibility open that another of my family members, who all have a ‘its not mine so I’m not doing it’ mindset, might take action OR do I remove them myself? Another factor which may come into play is my mother. If she visits next week which is quite likely then all speculation will end. This is what will happen. My mother will say “There’s a pair of socks down there?” and I will reply “I know”. There will then be a brief conversation where I try to explain why I’ve left them there and my mother will have the look on her face that says to me that she can not understand why anyone, let alone her offspring, would allow their house to be littered like this in the name of social research. She may well say “You’re crackers”. The subject will be dropped and then within a matter of hours my mother will inform me that she has put the socks in the wash basket. Her sense of household orderliness far exceeds mine or any of my family’s. I’ll leave the decision on what course of action to take for at least another 24 hours. ****see below
The bad decisions refered to in the title have left me in physical pain and mental distress. It all started on Thursday when the sunshine prompted me to search out the lovely white sandals I’d bought last year and kept for the move from boots to summer footwear. The shoe stage was skipped completely this year. At 8am I left the house thinking how comfortable they felt. By 9am I was thinking they felt a little tight. By 10am I was wondering how I would get through the day without crying. At 3pm I was hobbling down the street, my house in sight and pure mind over matter keeping me going. At 3.01pm I was peeling the offending items off my feet (they were not worthy to be called ‘the lovely white sandals’ at that point). The next day I had to decide what to wear on my feet. To be fair my choices were limited. Toe posts sandals are considered a health and safety hazard where I work and high temperatures ruled out boots so I was left with shoes or a pair of sandals passed onto me by my mother last year. I went with the sandals and foolishly pushed vital information to the back of my mind. The vital information was a) the reason the sandals were passed on was because they were too tight for my mother b) they are a size too big for me and c) I hadn’t worn them before. At 8am I left the house thinking how comfortable they felt. By 9am I was thinking they felt a little tight. By 10am I was wondering how I would get through the day without crying. At 3pm I was hobbling down the street, my house in sight and pure mind over matter keeping me going. At 3.01pm I was peeling the offending items off my feet. Wearing 50s style gym shoes to the Grease sing a long on Friday evening and no footwear during a stay at home Saturday caused me no problems. On Sunday I chose toe post sandals but after a long car journey and walking around a shopping centre my feet were swollen and beginning to feel uncomfortable. I had taken my boots to change into for an evening at SoccerAid but for some inexplicable reason I decided to stick with the sandals! This bad decision was compounded by another decision ie. to take off my sandals once we got to the stadium. I don’t really have to write the next bit as I’m sure you can all predict what happened next. I’m sure I knew what would happen because it has happened to me before, on more than one occassion, but I was prepared to take instant relief and deny the possibility of defered agony. As sure as night follows day the agony came when my feet were squeezed back into the sandals.
Monday morning brought further misery. No suitable comfortable sandals and feet too swollen to go into shoes. I was left with no choice but to wear my boots on what was one of the hottest days of the year so far. Today the swelling had receeded so I wore the toe posts. I avoided any health and safety mishaps but felt uneasy all day, knowing that I could fall at any moment and then be in trouble for not heeding the instruction to wear sensible sandals. I could go and buy a new pair of sandals …..but…..I do have a pair of lovely white sandals and a pair of sandals my mother passed on to me.
**** A few moments ago Frodo enquired as to whether I was writing about the socks going. WHAT!!!!! I hadn’t even checked before I started writing. I had just assumed they would still be there but I’ve been to look and they are NOT. I’ve txtd D2 and asked what she knows about this development but have not received a reply yet. I will interview all family members asap and write my conclusions tomorrow.