For Christmas, mum got me some “silly socks”. Socksof a thickness that is comforting and warm with the little grippy pads on the bottom you’d associate with a knock off pair of totes. And reindeer faces on them. Complete with red noses because Rudolph. And also because reindeer go bat-shit crazy for Fly Agaric mushrooms which are red, so much so that bits of mushroom often stick to their facees – hence the red-nosed reindeer.
Boom. Learning stuff from podcasts is fun – that factoid came from the Death By Monsters episode about Mushroom Santa. Which is excellent and all about how, basically, Santa is a mushroom. Essentially.
Anyway, my reindeer noses were not shrooms. They were pompoms.
I got the slippers, I thanked my mother. They made their way to the sock drawer.
Until yesterday, when stricken with disease I wanted something to keep my feet warm. And to raise my spirits in the face of oncoming death. So obviously, silly reindeer socks. Ho ho ho.
What we didn’t know, and what no-one could have predicted (we totally could have) was that the pom-poms would come off. Ridiculously easily. But unbeknownst to us. Until Carole looked at my feet and all that was left was a little tuft of red wool on one foot. The nose was gone.
The other foot faired better. The nose lasted longer. Not much longer, but a short time longer. And then it, too, came off to form an amusing play thing for a cat or a “what is this under my foot?” thing for a human.
But all I’m thinking is what if they had survived and they had gone into the wash as they were. I mean, as they are now I’m not sure about washing them as the pom-pom residue appears to be glued down with a glue I am willing to bet any amount of money dissolves in a washing machine. But imagine the wool carnage when it came to removing the socks from the wash – it’s bad enough with a rogue tissue.
An exploded pom doesn’t even bear thinking about.