Sock Wars – Like Star Wars, Only With A Psychotic Puppy. And No Robots.

I have no idea what shit goes down at my house when I’m at work, but I’m sure it has something to do with all of my missing socks…and Mags.  She secretly hordes them, I swear.  I’ll find a random sock sticking out of the bottom of the bed or under a chair or strewn haphazardly on the floor and think “Where’s the matching one?  How did that get there?”  I see her looking at me all:

“What?  OH, YOU THINK I DID THAT, IS THAT IT?  I’M SUDDENLY THE BAD BITCH, NOW?  PFFFFTT…PUHLEASE.  I’M BETTER THAN THAT…WAIT.  ARE YOU USING THAT SOCK RIGHT NOW?” 

  “You mean the one that I’m currently WEARING?”

  “YEAH. NOT THAT I WANT IT, BUT ARE YOU?  I SO COULD……..NEVERMIND.”

“Sock whore…”

“Oh, yeah?  I think you just put a clean comforter on your bed…”

*Gasp*  “YOU WOULDN’T!”

“Who’s the bitch, now?” 

*rips off sock*  “Look, Maggie.  I got a pretty socky for you!”

“Oh!  GOODY, GOODY!! GIMMEE GIMMEE GIMMEE!!!!!!” 

Mmmm, hmmmm……..

Addiction is difficult.  There will be an intervention, I'm sure of it.

“What?  Oh, these?  It’s nothing.  You see nothing, you got it?”

 

The word on the street that the Mob would have us relocate is getting to be more of a fact, than a rumor.  Now the question remains as to where to relocate the wonderful Kayjai-kin?  Aye, there’s the rub.  We are still in limbo, but the horizon looks very wheat-fieldy or Island Life, The Extreme North Edition.  Essentially, they want to haul us off to rural areas.  Maybe we have been city-folk way too long for their liking?  Ugh…go west old man, never seemed all that appealing to me.  Can I get a witness?  Hell, no we won’t go! 

As an aside, Hubby is quaking in his high browns, but we remain positive until the hammer comes down all definitive-like. No use panicking about something that may not happen.  With two daughters in Uni (D1 just got accepted to Nursing.  Can I get a ‘hell yeah’?!)   the prospects of having to go yonder ways to where they would have to either start a different university or stay here in residence is daunting and tipped on the side of inane.  Ugh.   

So for now, we sit and wait while the map is outstretched before the Mob Boss as he throws one hand over his closed eyes and with his other hand, juts his pointed finger towards the map and BAM!  We have been relocated.  Congratulations, Kayjai-folk!   

And THAT, good people is how it’s done….

True story.

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15 thoughts on “Sock Wars – Like Star Wars, Only With A Psychotic Puppy. And No Robots.

    • Hubby’s job has been deemed redundant. Ugh. We are hoping to stay here and just have Hubby go elsewhere while the girls are going to uni…we will see what’s in the wind. Either way, a change is coming….

      • The Feds have to relocate Hubby since they made his job redundant…not his fault they ended his job so they must offer him a shiny new one…in some God foresaken land nobody wants to go to. Oh, did I just say that out loud? My bad….

      • Egad! At least he’ll still have a job.
        Wherever he ends up, I hope it’s somewhere that has at least some of the modern conveniences.
        (like internet and indoor plumbing.)

        I’m glad he has you and the family to go through it with.

  1. looks like I am not the only one who is suffering at the hands of ole Stevie. He cut my job before I got a chance to begin. He even closed the building….come on 2015 so that we can vote in some other idiot who cuts without checking what’s under the knife!

    • Thank you, Madame for all exclamations. Very proud of D1 for her determination to get into nursing and very disappointed with the mob…we shall see within the next couple of months what’s what…

  2. I applied to the Mounties when I was young. Probably wouldn’t have made it, but this is why I withdrew the app. Ontario is lovely this time of….hubby’s career, but they’ll want to send you to someplace where the first letter of its name is Snow. I have a follower in northern Sask. who blogs via satellite Hotstick. BrianRants could teach you how. So sorry! 😦 Keep us updated. Bad Mags. (Good Mags. Just don’t tell Mommy.)

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