Prepare for the end of the world. Don’t stop going to classes until we’re absolutely sure The End is here, but be on the lookout for Events of the Unforeseen Kind. You might need to sit down for this.
As you know, your sister does not wear matching socks, unless required during an official match of whatever sport she’s involved with at the particular moment. I don’t really remember a time when she voluntarily wore socks that matched. Pi says the whole miss-match thing can be traced to Annie “It is time…to duck” (see note)–remind me to have a word with Annie about her Influence on Small Children. In any event, Pi believes in colorful, creative, and non-matching socks.
Tonight, she forgot to see what socks she had in her soccer bag. When she got to practice she discovered she only had her game socks and would have to wear (are you sitting down Oh Best Beloved?) two identical socks. I suggested she turn one inside out, but apparently because of the way the socks are made that would cause technical difficulties. Then I suggested she tuck grass into one (a sort of sock hula skirt). She rolled her eyes (but not until she’d giggled a little).
Speaking of ducks (ok, different kind of duck), did you know there are more than 40 breeds of domestic duck? Most male ducks are silent and very few ducks actually “quack.” Instead, their calls may include squeaks, grunts, groans, chirps, whistles, brays, and growls. (Big deal. Sounds like most males I know.) Do you know what you call a group of ducks? A raft, team, or paddling. I kid you not. Who thinks of these things? A paddling of braying of ducks. (Seriously? Braying? Perhaps someone confused some the animals on the farm? I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure they are more sleep deprived than most of us.)
No practice. We left the field, and the offending socks have been removed. We agreed that the reason there was no practice was because of the matchingness of the socks. Crisis averted.
Guess you’re going to have to go to class after all.
Note: In case you don’t remember, although I’m sure you do: one of the best Annie stories was the one about when she was traveling in the country of East I-can’t-remember-where on a train with some of the locals. They were having a grand old time. At one point, one of her companions said, “It is time…to duck.” Apparently, there were outlaws in the area who regularly shot at the train at that particular point. They all ducked, the outlaws shot, no one was injured, and the trip went on.