When Stuck…

Return to old scribblings. I’ve been so delinquent this month that I don’t even know where to begin to atone for it. Halloween is fast approaching and that means October is coming to an end. I’ve managed to enjoy the parts of the season that are nearest and dearest to my heart (day-long road trips, orchards and farms in the Fall, apples, pumpkins, Halloween festivities) but I haven’t written one word of the short story I’ve been meaning to post here.

While I work on the installment for tomorrow (isn’t a 5-10 minute read for 3 days more delicious than a 2 minute read for 10 days?) I suddenly remembered a piece I had written years ago. It was a 15 minute writing exercise that was to write a paragraph/short story/character sketch from the perspective of a sock monkey. Well. As luck would have it, my favourite winter mittens are sock monkeys so voilá, my muse.

So, here’s my character sketch involving my mittens.

The. Best. Mittens. Ever.

 

I’m fine with being a sock monkey, bringing back good childhood memories for some and making others cry because some distant relative of mine traumatized them when they were little.

Until you stick your hand up my bum.

I don’t begrudge you your body parts and appendages, in fact I’m happy at least one of us has something more than 2 sticky-outy ears and x’s for nostrils. But, honestly, can’t you please give a fleece lined ½ sock monkey some privacy and dignity when you put me on? You wouldn’t change a baby on a subway or at a restaurant table so how could you treat me like any other accessory?Don’t I keep you company when you’re on long trips?

Sure I look happy and content to keep your, yes YOUR, hands warm but let me tell you something sweet cheeks, it’s bloody  cold out.

Besides, its lonely.

Sure I like talking with you since you obviously have no friends (yes, don’t deny it, I see how all the other people move away from you when we are in the middle of a raging debate) but when my bro and I aren’t huddled up in your bag, I get lonely. All I can do is flip one ear at him as I’m catapulted back and forth by your Poe-inspired arms. It’s no fun seeing the world upside down and backwards.

If I had anything other than lint in my belly I’d happily vomit it all over your fancy wool coat. Let’s see how much you’d like to be picking sock-monkey lint balls off that fancy schmancy coat of yours. I bet just as much as I enjoy being worn.

You know, from now on I’m just going to call you Proc, because you seem to like assholes, after all, in my opinion, you’ve dated enough of them.

But what do I know? I’m just a sock monkey.

*This was written after a particularly brutal break up. My asshole-o-meter is now fully functional so I only date the good guys now.

 

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