I Think My Sock Puppet Hates Me
By Andy Morris
Bollocks!
I think my sock puppet hates me!
Max had been trying to dodge this intrusive thought for weeks, but it had become impossible to ignore. He was slumped on his lumpy bed in the corner of his crappy flat. Well, it was more of a bedsit than a flat, but it was all he could afford for himself and Mittens. With a defeated sigh he turned his hand so the tips of his fingers were facing him. Of course, he couldn’t see his fingertips or his hand because these belonged to Mittens, his sock puppet.
The red, yellow and green sock with the shiny plastic eyes and lengths of purple wool for hair looked back at him, unblinking. Max felt the disappointment and resentment coming off her in waves. It was hard to tell when things had first started to go wrong between them. He’d made Mittens when he was at school, and like all men, his sock puppet went everywhere with him. Mittens had been with him nearly all of his 21 years, outlasting all his pets and nearly all his friendships. She had accompanied him throughout his school years and when he went into the sixth form to do his A-Levels. They had shared birthdays and holidays. She’d been there to witness his first kiss, and she’d been eagerly cheering him on when he lost his virginity to Jinny Tucker.
Max and Mittens were inseparable, and that’s how things should be. The bond between a man and his sock puppet was sacred and unbreakable. Yet somewhere along the line things had changed. Mittens had become less animated and seemed bored in his company. She would often sigh and not speak to him for days. He thought she’d be happy after he made her a new shoebox bed, which he kept at the side of his own bed, but no.
Max let out another noisy breath and wandered over to the kettle in the corner of the room. He should probably clean the place tomorrow, he reflected, before realising he’d said the same thing yesterday. And the day before. He filled the black plastic kettle with water and flicked it on. The little orange light glowed while the water heated up.
As he dropped his teabag into the cup and added the milk, Max looked down at Mittens wondering again if she was the reason he had so few friends. She hung there limply at the end of his arm staring at the floor. Sometimes she would whisper things to him – unkind and hurtful things. She never laughed at his jokes anymore, and when they were on the bus she would pull faces at the other passengers. He’d been asked to get off and walk the rest of the way on more than one occasion.
“Why don’t you like me?” Max asked.
Mittens turned her head to look up at him. Her black stick-on eyes fixed him with a stare that was as unreadable as ever. She opened her mouth and then closed it again as if she were about to say something but changed her mind thinking better of it.
Max picked up his milky cup of tea in his left hand and carried it back to his bed. He did everything with his left hand. Mittens took his right hand from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to bed. That was her hand, and he could no longer use it as he once had. Most boys got used to losing their dominant hand pretty quickly when they got their sock puppets. As Max slumped down on his unmade bed he thought back to the last, in fact, the only girl he had ever brought home to his flat.
Susan had been kind and easygoing. She seemed to like Mittens and the two of them struck up an easy conversation in the pub while Max sat there feeling a little awkward. When they’d finished their drinks, Mittens had whispered to Max that he should invite Susan back to his flat. To his surprise, Susan accepted and a short while later they were passionately kissing on his lumpy bed. Some drama series about a fictional royal family was on the telly in the background. It was only halfway through the first episode when Mittens decided she’d had enough. Without warning her stripy cotton face twisted into a grimace. She opened her mouth wide like a snake about to swallow its prey. Max barely had time to say, “Hey– ” before she pounced. Mittens leapt forward and grabbed Susan’s face in her mouth. Max shouted at his sock puppet to let go as both he and Susan struggled to pull Mittens off. It took several frantic moments before Susan was free. His would-be girlfriend let rip a stream of expletives before storming out of the flat.
Try as he might, Max couldn’t get Mittens to say why she didn’t like Susan or any other girl he tried to talk to. The sock puppet would always growl and snap at potential dates before he’d even had the chance to be rejected by them.
“What’s wrong with me?” Max often asked himself.
His brother, Ric had a perfectly good relationship with his sock puppet, Lucy. Lucy was always pleasant and happy to see anyone. She’d often snuggle up to Ric and push her head under his chin as a sign of affection.
The same was true with Dad’s sock puppet, Jo-Jo. Jo-Jo and mum got on well too, and there was never a crossed word between them.
So why does Mittens hate me so much?
The following day Max was having lunch with Tom, one of his co-workers. Max didn’t feel like talking and before long the conversation dried up. Tom began scrolling through his phone with one hand while his sock puppet, Matilda chatted animatedly with Mittens. The pair were busy gossiping about something or other and Max didn’t want to intrude, so he stared out of the window at people walking past. Everyone else's sock puppets were happy, alert, and eagerly taking in the sites while their owners went about their business. There was one guy, Max noticed who didn’t have a sock puppet. This oddball was wandering about on his own with nothing on his hands. He’d heard of people like this and often wondered how they functioned as an adult without having a sock puppet. It made no sense to Max. How could anyone ever take them seriously? Those people must be so sad, weird and… creepy. It was no wonder everyone avoided them. Yet, somehow they seemed to manage their way through life – Manage better than Max was anyway.
When it was time to go back to work, Max and Tom agreed it had been good and they should do it again sometime, although neither of them suggested when or where. Mittens and Matilda embraced in a lively hug, and they needed some gentle encouragement to separate so Max and Tom could return to the office.
All afternoon, and well into the evening Max had been thinking about those eccentric, pathetic men who go around without sock puppets. Maybe they shared his sense of isolation and loneliness? Mittens seemed to be more popular than him, so was there any point in keeping her? Max found himself contemplating joining the circle of freaks who didn’t talk to their socks and used both hands every day. Maybe he should just put his foot inside Mittens and wear her as a normal sock?
Mittens snapped her head around at him, shock and revulsion etched into her brightly coloured stitching.
Max hastily apologised.
Bollocks!
What was he thinking? He was no monster!
He went to make a cup of tea and try to forget he’d ever contemplated the idea. As he waited for the kettle to boil another thought occurred to him. What if he sent Mittens away? Somewhere where she’d be more useful, where she’d feel more fulfilled? Somewhere like Norway? It's cold up there and they always need more socks?
Max poured the water onto the milk and teabag and waited for it to brew. Mittens stared at his cup and for a moment Max worried she may try to knock it over. That was the kind of mischievous thing she’d do when she was bored, or angry with him. He tried to get Mittens to look at the television by way of distraction. They were coming up to the end of season two of that royal family drama. Max had grown tired of it but Mittens still enjoyed it.
He fished out the teabag and dumped it on the side before crossing the room and plonking himself on the bed. Tonight would be a good time to clean his flat, but he just couldn’t find the energy. After confirming Mittens’ attention was still focused on the telly he took out his phone and idly swiped through a few apps until he came to one called, Sock This!
Sock This! was a kind of dating app where users could scroll through photos of other people’s socks. Swipe left to ignore one, and swipe right if they liked one. Max began casually scrolling through the pictures while keeping one eye on the television. After a while Mittens slowly turned her head and peered over to the top of his screen. Max continued to swipe left. In the past, he would have felt embarrassed that Mittens had caught him looking at a site like this, but now he no longer cared – it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Mittens looked from the phone screen to him, and back again, watching which socks he liked and which ones he didn’t. After a while Mittens sprang forwards and grabbed his thumb in her mouth. She carefully moved his hand aside and they both stared down at the screen. It displayed a rugged-looking, dark green woollen sock named Wellington. Wellington was described as hard-wearing. Size nine, and made with a specially developed heavy bulk yarn. It was a proper outdoor sock. Mittens began nodding her head excitedly.
“You sure? This one?”
Mittens continued to nod, her mouth dropping open as if she were panting like a puppy, eagerly waiting for a treat.
Max shrugged and swiped right.
A few days later the new sock arrived. Max put it on his left hand and both sock puppets greeted each other and struck up an instant rapport. They began chatting and laughing together. Max hadn’t seen Mittens like this for a long time, and he felt an enormous sense of satisfaction and personal achievement. He sauntered over to his kettle to make a celebratory cup of tea, and it was only then, as he went to add the milk to his empty cup, that he realised his new conundrum: With Mittens on one hand and Wellington on the other, Max had lost the use of both hands. He could no longer make a cup of tea. Or do his job. Or eat!
Oh, he sighed heavily.
Bollocks!
I think my sock puppet hates me!
Max had been trying to dodge this intrusive thought for weeks, but it had become impossible to ignore. He was slumped on his lumpy bed in the corner of his crappy flat. Well, it was more of a bedsit than a flat, but it was all he could afford for himself and Mittens. With a defeated sigh he turned his hand so the tips of his fingers were facing him. Of course, he couldn’t see his fingertips or his hand because these belonged to Mittens, his sock puppet.
The red, yellow and green sock with the shiny plastic eyes and lengths of purple wool for hair looked back at him, unblinking. Max felt the disappointment and resentment coming off her in waves. It was hard to tell when things had first started to go wrong between them. He’d made Mittens when he was at school, and like all men, his sock puppet went everywhere with him. Mittens had been with him nearly all of his 21 years, outlasting all his pets and nearly all his friendships. She had accompanied him throughout his school years and when he went into the sixth form to do his A-Levels. They had shared birthdays and holidays. She’d been there to witness his first kiss, and she’d been eagerly cheering him on when he lost his virginity to Jinny Tucker.
Max and Mittens were inseparable, and that’s how things should be. The bond between a man and his sock puppet was sacred and unbreakable. Yet somewhere along the line things had changed. Mittens had become less animated and seemed bored in his company. She would often sigh and not speak to him for days. He thought she’d be happy after he made her a new shoebox bed, which he kept at the side of his own bed, but no.
Max let out another noisy breath and wandered over to the kettle in the corner of the room. He should probably clean the place tomorrow, he reflected, before realising he’d said the same thing yesterday. And the day before. He filled the black plastic kettle with water and flicked it on. The little orange light glowed while the water heated up.
As he dropped his teabag into the cup and added the milk, Max looked down at Mittens wondering again if she was the reason he had so few friends. She hung there limply at the end of his arm staring at the floor. Sometimes she would whisper things to him – unkind and hurtful things. She never laughed at his jokes anymore, and when they were on the bus she would pull faces at the other passengers. He’d been asked to get off and walk the rest of the way on more than one occasion.
“Why don’t you like me?” Max asked.
Mittens turned her head to look up at him. Her black stick-on eyes fixed him with a stare that was as unreadable as ever. She opened her mouth and then closed it again as if she were about to say something but changed her mind thinking better of it.
Max picked up his milky cup of tea in his left hand and carried it back to his bed. He did everything with his left hand. Mittens took his right hand from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to bed. That was her hand, and he could no longer use it as he once had. Most boys got used to losing their dominant hand pretty quickly when they got their sock puppets. As Max slumped down on his unmade bed he thought back to the last, in fact, the only girl he had ever brought home to his flat.
Susan had been kind and easygoing. She seemed to like Mittens and the two of them struck up an easy conversation in the pub while Max sat there feeling a little awkward. When they’d finished their drinks, Mittens had whispered to Max that he should invite Susan back to his flat. To his surprise, Susan accepted and a short while later they were passionately kissing on his lumpy bed. Some drama series about a fictional royal family was on the telly in the background. It was only halfway through the first episode when Mittens decided she’d had enough. Without warning her stripy cotton face twisted into a grimace. She opened her mouth wide like a snake about to swallow its prey. Max barely had time to say, “Hey– ” before she pounced. Mittens leapt forward and grabbed Susan’s face in her mouth. Max shouted at his sock puppet to let go as both he and Susan struggled to pull Mittens off. It took several frantic moments before Susan was free. His would-be girlfriend let rip a stream of expletives before storming out of the flat.
Try as he might, Max couldn’t get Mittens to say why she didn’t like Susan or any other girl he tried to talk to. The sock puppet would always growl and snap at potential dates before he’d even had the chance to be rejected by them.
“What’s wrong with me?” Max often asked himself.
His brother, Ric had a perfectly good relationship with his sock puppet, Lucy. Lucy was always pleasant and happy to see anyone. She’d often snuggle up to Ric and push her head under his chin as a sign of affection.
The same was true with Dad’s sock puppet, Jo-Jo. Jo-Jo and mum got on well too, and there was never a crossed word between them.
So why does Mittens hate me so much?
The following day Max was having lunch with Tom, one of his co-workers. Max didn’t feel like talking and before long the conversation dried up. Tom began scrolling through his phone with one hand while his sock puppet, Matilda chatted animatedly with Mittens. The pair were busy gossiping about something or other and Max didn’t want to intrude, so he stared out of the window at people walking past. Everyone else's sock puppets were happy, alert, and eagerly taking in the sites while their owners went about their business. There was one guy, Max noticed who didn’t have a sock puppet. This oddball was wandering about on his own with nothing on his hands. He’d heard of people like this and often wondered how they functioned as an adult without having a sock puppet. It made no sense to Max. How could anyone ever take them seriously? Those people must be so sad, weird and… creepy. It was no wonder everyone avoided them. Yet, somehow they seemed to manage their way through life – Manage better than Max was anyway.
When it was time to go back to work, Max and Tom agreed it had been good and they should do it again sometime, although neither of them suggested when or where. Mittens and Matilda embraced in a lively hug, and they needed some gentle encouragement to separate so Max and Tom could return to the office.
All afternoon, and well into the evening Max had been thinking about those eccentric, pathetic men who go around without sock puppets. Maybe they shared his sense of isolation and loneliness? Mittens seemed to be more popular than him, so was there any point in keeping her? Max found himself contemplating joining the circle of freaks who didn’t talk to their socks and used both hands every day. Maybe he should just put his foot inside Mittens and wear her as a normal sock?
Mittens snapped her head around at him, shock and revulsion etched into her brightly coloured stitching.
Max hastily apologised.
Bollocks!
What was he thinking? He was no monster!
He went to make a cup of tea and try to forget he’d ever contemplated the idea. As he waited for the kettle to boil another thought occurred to him. What if he sent Mittens away? Somewhere where she’d be more useful, where she’d feel more fulfilled? Somewhere like Norway? It's cold up there and they always need more socks?
Max poured the water onto the milk and teabag and waited for it to brew. Mittens stared at his cup and for a moment Max worried she may try to knock it over. That was the kind of mischievous thing she’d do when she was bored, or angry with him. He tried to get Mittens to look at the television by way of distraction. They were coming up to the end of season two of that royal family drama. Max had grown tired of it but Mittens still enjoyed it.
He fished out the teabag and dumped it on the side before crossing the room and plonking himself on the bed. Tonight would be a good time to clean his flat, but he just couldn’t find the energy. After confirming Mittens’ attention was still focused on the telly he took out his phone and idly swiped through a few apps until he came to one called, Sock This!
Sock This! was a kind of dating app where users could scroll through photos of other people’s socks. Swipe left to ignore one, and swipe right if they liked one. Max began casually scrolling through the pictures while keeping one eye on the television. After a while Mittens slowly turned her head and peered over to the top of his screen. Max continued to swipe left. In the past, he would have felt embarrassed that Mittens had caught him looking at a site like this, but now he no longer cared – it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Mittens looked from the phone screen to him, and back again, watching which socks he liked and which ones he didn’t. After a while Mittens sprang forwards and grabbed his thumb in her mouth. She carefully moved his hand aside and they both stared down at the screen. It displayed a rugged-looking, dark green woollen sock named Wellington. Wellington was described as hard-wearing. Size nine, and made with a specially developed heavy bulk yarn. It was a proper outdoor sock. Mittens began nodding her head excitedly.
“You sure? This one?”
Mittens continued to nod, her mouth dropping open as if she were panting like a puppy, eagerly waiting for a treat.
Max shrugged and swiped right.
A few days later the new sock arrived. Max put it on his left hand and both sock puppets greeted each other and struck up an instant rapport. They began chatting and laughing together. Max hadn’t seen Mittens like this for a long time, and he felt an enormous sense of satisfaction and personal achievement. He sauntered over to his kettle to make a celebratory cup of tea, and it was only then, as he went to add the milk to his empty cup, that he realised his new conundrum: With Mittens on one hand and Wellington on the other, Max had lost the use of both hands. He could no longer make a cup of tea. Or do his job. Or eat!
Oh, he sighed heavily.
Bollocks!