Chase loves my socks. It doesn’t matter if they are dirty or clean, wool, cotton or nylon. Chase just loves my socks. So this morning:
This was a brown trouser sock. Fortunately I bought two pair so have one and a half pair left. I don’t know how he gets them. Perhaps one was dropped on the way to the laundry room and he squirreled it away. Perhaps he climbed up to where laundry was being folded and just flat-out stole it. This is the first time he destroyed a sock before I could rescue it — I actually thought it was an arm from his octopus toy, and, alas, delayed the rescue operation far too long.
So, I’m emailing the Obama transition team to ask that he be given a position as overseer of the New York Sock Exchange.
