Cotton Socks

This morning, while walking the dogs, I observed a woman doing likewise with hers. Suddenly, and unknowingly, she dropped one of her leads. Being the gentleman that I am, I picked it up, hailed her, and returned it. At this point she smiled sweetly and said to me, "Bless your little cotton socks."

I, of course, have a number of problems with this. First, my socks, like all proper socks, are woollen. Secondly, they're not little. I have size 10 feet. Thirdly, how come she as (I assume) a layperson takes it upon herself to bless anything of mine, let alone socks? It was therefore the exact equivalent of me going, unbidden, into a Catholic Church and trying to get one of the priest's Custard Creams to transubstantiate.

Then again, maybe she isn't a layperson, and she actually does have the authority to give blessings. In which case, why only my socks and no other item of clothing? This is like the Pope appearing before the crowds in St Peter's Square on a Sunday and intoning, "The blessing of Almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit be upon you and remain with you always. Just you Franciscans in the corner over there, I mean. The rest of you can all go fuck yourselves."

Similarly, then, by saying "Bless your little cotton socks" to the exclusion of all else, the woman may as well have added, "But I hope your fucking trousers rip, your flies burst, and the sleeves drop off your ill-fitting polyester jacket, you cunt."

What can inspire such unwarranted animosity? Whatever it is, I won't tolerate it. The next time I see her, I'll order the dogs to attack and eat her.