It started out the way any normal day would; one full of hope and promise. It was a Sunday, so the normal routine of motivating the troops into their appropriate attire and into our chosen mode of transportation, was the order of the day.
General Dad knew his two young soldiers could use some extra inspiration, so he put in a training film of sorts, highlighting where this afternoon's theater of operations would take place. We would be doing some fun maneuvers later that day at Tanganyika Wildlife Park, a kind of a mini outdoor animal preserve. Kid's motivated; mission accomplished.
The rest of the morning went well. Before leaving the church, I changed into some more comfortable duds, ready for the day to begin. That is where the fiasco began. I had noticed that even though I had remembered shorts, shirt and socks, I had neglected to bring some tennis shoes. No harm done, the house was on the way, and Mommy was quite willing to stop by there to let me pick them up. (What she wasn't willing to do was to let me walk around in white sports socks and black dress shoes. Her tolerance for nerdy attire only goes so far.)
We dropped by the house and went inside to play tennis shoe hunt. It is a fun game where you look all around the house to no avail, returning to the original place you looked, to discover that there were merely camouflaged by an article of clothing. Okay, zooming out the door with socks on and shoes in hand. The voice of reason began to kick in. I was in a hurry but, I knew that I should stop to put them on.
I glanced out the door. The cement looked dry enough. Aaaaaaaah, why not? I locked the door, stepped out, SQUISH! Oh, crumbs, that's why not. Of course, I should have turned around right then and there, unlocked the door and gotten another pair. Not today. They weren't really too wet, so I sprinted to the car and once inside, removed the wet 'fellas. My wife asked if I was going back in, but I told her that I had it under control.
On the highway. Mad genius that I was, I put together the equation:
Wet Socks + Cracked Window X Highway Velocity = Semi Dry Socks
Mindful that I would be doing the very thing that I have told my sons that they should never do, I made a big speech about "Only Daddy's are allowed to do this, because if you stick things out of the window, you could lose them. Only Daddy can hang on to them tight enough, not to lose them."
The plan began to work perfectly. I cracked the window, and with a firm grasp, I let the little guy flap frantically in the wind. After a short time, I pulled him back in to check the progress. Still a bit wet. No problem. One more time in the jet stream, when of course an inevitable ffffffWHIP!!!! In a split second, my lonely sock hurtled through the air, never to be seen again.
My wife was kind enough not to bust out laughing, but I still had to eat plenty of crow, while telling my boys that I had blown it. All was not lost, as we stopped by a dollar store where I bought a $1 pair of socks. We made it to the event where upon meeting up with some dear friends, I began to regale them with my foot tale.
Ready for the "kicker": After my story was complete, I realized I was barefooted in my tennis shoes, new socks back in the car. Ugggggghhhhhh!
One additional "foot" note. I am wearing the socks right now as I am typing this blog, and they feel fantastic! All's well that ends well. Until next time...