More Fun With Socks

Tor had come from out of town for a visit and I decided to have a little fun.

I'd bought some really cheap, dark dress socks from Family Dollar and discovered, after a day of wearing them and sweating into combat boots, that the dye used for the socks had seeped into my flesh and stained my feet a ghastly shade of bruise-
colored navy blue. It didn't look like my feet had been painted; the resemblance to a horrifying medical condition was uncanny. Plus it didn't wash off. So as not to give away the game, I changed into some white socks.

I laid on the living room floor, making small talk and after a while I said, "You know, I think there's something going on with my feet. They just haven't looked or felt right lately."

"Well they've never really smelled right," said Tor.

"No, serious, I think something's up."

"What do you mean?"

I peeled off one of my socks. Tor sat upright, gave out a little scream and went into a display of horrified double-takes and spluttering worthy of a Thirties' slapstick comedian. "What? Fu-fu-fu-fu-fuck, man! How long? I mean, you, you, you..."

"Plus they're kinda warm to the touch." What Tor didn't know was that I had been lying with my feet right next a ceramic heater and had held them there until I simply couldn't bear the burning pain any longer. He reached out with one finger and
gingerly touched the top of my foot. His hand yanked back and his eyes did pinwheels.

"We gotta get you to a hospital right now!" He shouted, leaping to his feet.

"It can wait till you leave town," I said. "I can go later in the week. Or next week. Sometime. I don't want to be any trouble."

"Trouble! Look, there is something SERIOUSLY wrong here. You need immediate medical attention!"

"It's probably just athelete's foot," I offered. "I'll pick up some Dr. Scholl's or something."

"Are you CRAZY?"

"Besides, the cat likes to curl up against them. Like a hot water bottle, I guess."

"Please," Tor pleaded, "you've got to take this seriously. You could end up losing your feet."

"Well maybe they'll give me one of those cool, motorized carts..."

"Stop!"

"...or a physical assist monkey. If I can't get around the house they'll HAVE to give me a monkey. I've checked into it and you can't get one if you're just lazy. 'Cause I was thinking, say I wanted a sandwich, all I'd have to do is say,
'Monkey, go make me a sandwich' and it would have to do it."

"I'M SERIOUS HERE!", he yelled. "You are in a bad way and deliberately ignoring it!"

"Tor, I want that monkey," I insisted.

He stood up and grabbed the telephone. "Either you get in my car right now and let me take you to the hospital or I'm
calling 911 and having them send an ambulance!", he shouted, nostrils flaring.

"And you're going to tell them what? My friend's cheap socks leaked dye all over his feet and then he held them next to the heater?"

It took a second to process, then the phone whizzed by, inches from my head, clattering against the wall. Tor dove on top of me, pinning me to the floor and started to throttle me.

"Monkey! Get him off of me!" I screamed. "Monkey! Make him stop!"