It’s not what you think.

If you have read my previous (also my first) blog, you would know that I’m not an adult (if you didn’t know, then know it now). Yes, I still go to school, but I’m not going to tell you which grade. I could be in fifth grade, for all that you know.

If you have read my previous (also my first) blog, you would also know that I live in India. Most schools in India follow the uniform code, where every student in a particular school wear the same uniform.

My school uniform obviously includes socks.

Socks.

Those wretched, stinky things you willingly wear on your feet.

If you go to school like me, or if you go to your workplace, you have to wear socks. Going to a chilly place? Socks. Off to a formal event? Socks. Off to save Rapunzel? Socks. Want to free Dobby? Socks.

I have to wear socks every single school day. My mother is very strict with things like rules or presentation, so no exceptions. Even if I cut my foot, I’d have to wear them. Even if I lost my foot, I’d have to wear them. Even if I died, I’d have to wear them.

And my school took the horrible choice of making the students wear white socks.

I despise white socks. Loathe them. And if you were in my place, you’d hate them too.

One of life’s greatest mysteries is how my white socks manage to become so dirty after I wear them for a day. My sock-covered feet wouldn’t have even touched the floor. But somehow, it becomes filthy.

But that’s only half the reason I despise white socks.

The History

My mother, for some godforsaken, flabbergasting reason, never puts the socks in along with the laundry. Never. I don’t know whether she has an issue with the dirty socks in the washing machine with the other clothes. If she does, then she is mistaken. There is something much worse than dirty socks with your laundry.

Underwear.

Especially, other people’s underwear.

The fact that my father’s or brother’s or mother’s underwear is tumbling around with my clothes disgust me. Fills me with abhor.

But I don’t mind socks with my laundry. At least it’s better than underwear.

As I was saying, my mother does not put the socks in with the laundry. So, me and my father have to wash our own socks. Mother doesn’t have to; she’s a teacher and she wears sandals to school everyday.

Father doesn’t mind; he washes his socks with great gusto. But I hate washing my socks. And here’s where the white plays in; white socks are harder to wash.

Trust me, I know. Try washing a pair after you’ve worn them for a day. With your hands and some bar soap. Nothing else. You will know the struggle I go through everyday.

Father doesn’t care because he doesn’t have to wear white socks, he can wear any color. But I can’t just wear what I want. Mother would kick me in the derriere. Therefore, I have to wear white socks. And wash them. Like a maniac.

You should know one fact about me; I’m the laziest god-sent creature on this planet. But if you were in my place, you would be too. Because, the way my parents tell me to do things makes you want to rebel and not do it, thereby making you lazier and lazier.

Father came up with an “innovative” way to make me wash my socks. As soon as he comes home from office, he’d come straight to my room and ask me, ‘Did you wash your socks?’ I, obviously, would say no. He would then pester me to wash them until I go and do it. If I don’t do it within two minutes of him pestering me, he’ll start screaming at me.

I know people who lament about how their parents lovingly ask them what they did during the day. I’d rather have parents like that. You’d also want a change in parents if your parents were like mine.

Father doesn’t even bother to wish me a good evening or ask what I did that day. He’d straight up storm into the house and stand right outside my room.

‘Did you wash your socks?’

It gets really annoying. If any parent is reading this, please, and I mean, please do not do this to your child. Yes, your child will do the task, but they end up hating you and your voice. I dread Father’s voice now. I just realized it sounds like a cow’s.

It’s better if you found better ways to make your child do things. Like, doing the task with them, making the task interesting or offer rewards at the end. You know what, I’ll write another blog for that.

And there you have it, a talk about socks.

Signing off (after spilling the tea),

Eva Helvok

(NOT!!)