Monkling's Blog

I’ve heard of trails of breadcrumbs. I’ve heard of hiking trails. I’ve heard of trails of marshmallows, thanks to The Secret Life of Bees. However, this is one trail I have never seen or heard about before:

In case you are not quite clear on what that is, it is socks. A trail of socks. I’m not quite sure why there is a trail of socks on my bedroom floor. If they were dirty, I could see a reason. Maybe they were making a break for the hamper. But they’re clean and folded.

Who left the trail and why? Did someone in the house run out of clean clothes and didn’t know to look in the laundry basket? They, therefore, decided they must leave a trail of socks for other family members in search of clean clothes?

Since neither I nor Frank had anything to do with it and the old dog is incapable of going up the stairs, much less moving around socks while having them remain clean, that narrows the field down to exactly 1 suspect: Darling Daughter. The questioning will have to wait until tomorrow. Since turning 21, she’s taken a liking to going into the city with her friends. I’m okay with that as long as it’s not to the bar that was handing out coupons that said something about bikini bull riding.