Sock it to Me

My daughter was sitting up in bed doing her calculus homework when I got home that night.  Looking down at the lines of equations that made no sense to me, I suddenly felt old and stupid.  I thought about my conversation with Mikey, and did the only thing I could do.  Stepping far enough away that she couldn’t reach me, I took off my sock and threw it at her.  She flicked it away with her pencil, her features contorted into a mask of total disgust.  I took off the other sock.  She told me not to even think about throwing it at her.  I threw it anyway.

“Foolish old man,” she said, shaking her head.  “I have a hamper full of dirty socks.  I have a brother with a dirty sock graveyard under his bed.  I can buy his loyalty with a ride to McDonalds.” She put down her calculus book and picked up world history.  “Welcome to Waterloo, Napoleon.  Welcome to Waterloo.” 

I did what any grown man would have done.  I ran into my room and locked the door.  I could hear her laughing, which got me laughing.

“You have to sleep sometime,” my night owl daughter yelled.  I laughed even more, knowing I was going to wake up someday soon covered in dirty socks. 

Today I won’t act my age.

Life on Life’s Terms II © 2015 by Ken Montrose