Yesterday, I came home from the grocery store, unpacked and put everything away, then got down to the business of making dinner.
Isn’t that the way it always goes? Minutes after you get home from the store, you find that the one ingredient you need for tonight’s dinner, you don’t have. It rots my socks. Because there is no way I’m driving all the way back to the store just for parsley.
Why I would run out of parsley in the first place is a good question. Parsley is one of my go-to spices, so I often need to buy more. Earlier in the week, I’d used some and noticed it was getting low. So I left the almost-empty parsley container on the counter to remind me to add it to my shopping list.
A couple of days later, I see the container, and in a fit of tidying up, put it back on the spice rack next to the paprika, saying to myself as I do so, “I’ll be sure to get more at the store today.”
Then promptly forgot about it. If I don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. Like I said, it rots my socks.
Do people (besides me) even say that anymore? Or is it another one of those British idioms I grew up with in Canada that I should toss in the bin with “Bob’s your uncle”?
Or maybe not. Maybe “rots your socks” isn’t British at all. Maybe it originates with the American Civil War, or as we suth’ners prefer, the War Between the States. Whatever you call it, the soldiers in that war had it tough. Trudging through all that water and muck, their socks would take a beating. Oh, those rotten socks. Annoyingly rotten.
Perhaps one night, a soldier looked at his piddly meal ration and said, “This rots my socks!” And every soldier sitting around the campfire knew exactly what he meant.
Speaking of rotten socks and shopping, you know what else rots my socks? Going to buy a tin of coffee, and the sign says “On Sale, $14.99.” Two years ago, the regular price was $12.99.
Another thing. Remember in school and you had an assignment due on Friday. You, like the goody two shoes (and speaking of idioms, where does that one come from?) you are, hand it in on Friday. But some don’t, and the teacher says to the malingerers that he’ll give them ’til Monday. It’s enough to rot your socks. How come they’re getting bailed out? Are they too big to fail?
This week, from Lafayette, Louisiana, Roddy Romero …
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