Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Its Socks

Page 75

"You're not cut for leadership," sneered a blazer with gold buttons. "You're literally footnote material."

Undeterred, D'Andre launched a series of bold, ill advised initiatives:

He tried to be a shirt, stretching himself across a hanger and stapling a collar to his cuff. The result was a limp, vaguely threatening garment that made the wearer look like they were being hugged by a sad eel.

He impersonated pants, sewing himself to LaTonya and crawling into a pair of suspenders. The ensemble collapsed mid-walk, causing a minor wardrobe malfunction at a brunch.

He attempted dresshood, gluing sequins to his sole and pirouetting in front of the mirror. The mirror cracked. The dresses wept with laughter.

Still, D'Andre persisted. He held sock rallies. He quoted sacred texts from the Book of Hosiery. He even staged a sit-in inside the dryer, refusing to tumble until socks were granted equal hanger space.

Eventually, the garments relented; not out of respect, but exhaustion. They gave D'Andre a ceremonial sash, made from a