A single sock.
Not even a pair.
$168.19.
No, the dog did not eat my son’s homework. He ate my son’s sock.
I was on the phone with my mother, when the conversation turned:
Me (utter disbelief): “Oh no. Mom, I think RJ just ate a sock.”
Mom (always the practical one): “Well, how big was the sock?”
Me (trying to downplay it): “One of 2.0’s footlets.”
Mom: “Hmm, might want to call the vet on that one.”
Me (heart racing, out of breath): “I’ve got to go – I will call you later.”
Conversation #1 abruptly ended, and in a complete panic (although the dog could have cared less), I call the Husband. Conversation #2 ensued, in which the Husband informed me this was going to cost a fortune. Um, yes, and the longer we wait I’m pretty sure the more it will cost. Thank you for being so supportive in my panicked state. Not.
Let’s just say the next 30-minutes were a blur.
Awesome is right. A happy ending (other than the bill), which incidentally, as I was paying for, the receptionist said to me, “Well, that was an expensive sock!” True, true, but what if I hadn’t seen him eat it, and we didn’t get it up right away!? I don’t even want to think about that one…
If you were a cat, RJ, I would say that this was one of your nine lives. But it’s more like one of my lives. Wow. Still worked up over this….
And no, I did not keep the sock. Even though the vet brought it to me in a sealed sandwich bag (with some grass and half-digested treats in there as well), and 2.0 could really have used that sock to make one matching pair, I let the vet keep it. All’s well that ends well. Until the next adventure in Life with Dubowsky…