Lost socks

I lost my socks last week.  "You lost your socks, you say?"  Yes, I lost my socks.  Or rather I thought they'd been nicked.  I'm a bit partial to socks at the moment as the cold weather and our stone floor tiles can make for very cold feet.  I've even been known to wear them to bed as I turn in at night with full certainty that I will be getting up shortly to attend to Nico who dazzled me with his ability to sleep eight full hours and then promptly went back to only managing three hours in a row.  So when my best woollen socks went missing I was a little perplexed and somewhat miffed.  Cotton socks just don't do the same job.

I'd been to the physio you see for a massage and when I'd come to get dressed my socks were gone.  I thought perhaps I was going crazy and that I'd ventured out in the artic conditions of the Costa Brava without them (yes, it did snow in Barcelona last week and we were left for two days without electricity).  And then I thought that perhaps the physio had some sort of bizarre sock fetish and took a pair from each client as some sort of trophy which left me feeling too embarrassed to ask if anyone had seen my socks.

So my husband visited the physio last week after running the Barcelona marathon and was promptly asked,

"Did your wife realise she'd left her socks last week?"

"Yes" he replied, "she thought you'd nicked them!"

It seems that the physio always places his client's socks on the radiator so that following treatment they can have lovely warm feet.  So not only did I leave with chilly feet, but I'm too embarrassed to go back!