ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing»
  • Commercial & Creative Writing

The Flying Sock

Updated on November 2, 2011

Have you ever found yourself in one of those jams and wonder how did I get here? Here I am in one of the stalls in the women's washroom at the community center frantically trying to be superwoman and change from my business clothes to my running gear. I'm here because I don't want to use the change room where the pre-teen and teenage girls are changing. I don't want to be the only women in a true girls change room. And that's how I find myself here in the middle stall of the women's washroom.

The stall is small. I hang up my courier bag on the only single hook and quickly remove my jacket and fleece vest. I'm trying not to occupy the washroom too long. First I take out my running shoes and throw them on the floor. I take off my muddy heals to put them back into the bag. Next I whip off my dress pants and slide on my running pants. I'm doing this quite fast. I'm quite proud that I'm on a roll. Then I remove my work blouse and shove it into the bag. In my hand I have my sports socks and quickly put my arms up to pop my running top over my head. In one short action the white ball of socks flies out of my hand. I can feel my empty hand. Miraculously my running top is perfectly in place.

I look up.

I'm not sure if I was hoping it would just fly right back down into my hands, but it didn't. I look around me in the small washroom stall. Nothing is on the floor. Oh no! I imagine myself diving my hand into the toilet water to rescue my socks. But it's empty.

I crouch down and look through the bottom of the stall. To one side are a pair of purple Nike running shoes. To the other side are a pair of rubber boots. No white socks. I look up again imagining that someone would get it and throw it back over the stall door. Nothing.

My time was up and I put on my running shoes with my black dress socks and left the stall. My mind still has the image of my flying sock in my head. Some say that the dryer in the laundry room eats socks. I say socks fly in washroom stalls. Just like the mystery of the dryer, where they go nobody knows.


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • PaulaHenry1 profile image

      PaulaHenry1 6 years ago from America

      Oh my, so true....where do those darn things hide? I swaer they have a secret 'one sock only' club! lol