I was quite prepared to throw it away but then someone had to mention all the good times it had witnessed. All the stag dos and fancy-dress parties. My indulgence in sartorial extravagance, at family gatherings, had made my name infamous!
How was I to know my trousers would ride up when we bent down to lift Wilma’s coffin?
Ridiculous. It was inanimate and could not share the memories. It would feel no loss, but would I? It was a physical monument to those moments, a tangible reminder, solid evidence of a life subtly different from the humdrum mell of humanity. Stored properly, it could survive long after I had turned to dust. Surely space was not so important to me that I could not spare a few cubic centimetres. Was it really such a burden?
Get a grip man! It was full of holes and I’d already lost the other one. With a contemptuous snort, I threw the remaining cartoon sock into the bin.
Copyright owned by S F Elton, May 2017
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