I mention all this because of the situation I found myself in recently with my drawers – the pull-out kind that is.
The middle one, with all my socks jammed tight inside, got stuck.
You may have experienced something similar yourself.
Scientifically speaking, what happens is when you roll your socks into a ball - as we all do – and chuck them in the drawer it imparts a force known in physics as "movement". This means when the ball comes into contact with another ball it effectively rolls away from the object it hits.
Naturally when this continues time after time, like when you keep bunging the never-ending supply of socks you get for Christmas, your birthday, Father's Day etc etc into a drawer it's going to get clogged up. Eventually.
Usually that happens when the socks reach the back of the drawer and can't go any further. So then something miraculous happens in the world of physics and they go upwards.
And that's when they jam the drawer against the bottom side of the top drawer.
At least that's how the bloke at the pub described it to me the other night. And he had a beard that made him look like a professor so I figured he knew what he was on about.
Anyway. There I am at home the other night with a jammed drawer.
So, I apply Man Rule No.6 to the task – the one that says: Brute force is always best – and yank the damn thing as hard as I can.
Luckily it came out first pop.
Unluckily, the vigorous nature of the process sent my bedside lamp crashing down, breaking the shade.
The associated racket caused Mrs P to come rushing.
It would be fair to say she was not particularly pleased that one of her matching lampshades, the pair of which had taken some time to find and the equivalent of the gross domestic product of a small European nation to purchase, was now sitting in two bits on the floor staring forlornly up at the upright section it had once been attached to.
Long story short I'm in the dogbox. And as part of my punishment I have to sort out my sock drawer.
So, my ears still ringing, I've tipped the entire contents onto the floor and I'm sorting through the socks while I'm grounded and confined to my bedroom.
At this point I should point out I am easily distracted. Particularly when there are more exciting things to do. Like have a snooze on my new electric bed with zero gravity and massage functions.
Within minutes the pile of socks on the floor is forgotten and I'm vibrating myself to sleep.
I'm awoken, God only knows how, many minutes later by Mrs P calling out from the other room to see how I'm getting on sorting the socks.
Like a naughty schoolboy not wanting to be caught red-handed, I hurriedly sift through them and sort two piles: One to keep and one to throw in the bin.
I scooped up the discards and headed for the bin. Crucially I don't put the keepers away.
Don't ask me why I didn't. I simply can't tell you. I figure I must have thought I'd get round to it later. A bit like all those little jobs you have to do around the house. They aren't going anywhere. There's no rush.
Anyway, somewhere in the blur of the next day or so the pile kept looking at me from their spot beside the drawers.
Each time I passed I made a mental note to put them away next time I was in the vicinity. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit this went on for more than 24 hours though in my defence I would like to say there was golf to watch on telly. Enough said.
Then one time I came back and the pile had vanished.
Obviously Mrs P had had enough and done the job herself.
I figured she'd be a little peeved at my laziness so opted not to offer thanks until later that evening when the volcano was less likely to erupt again.
It didn't exactly go as I'd planned.
As I grovelled her face first turned ashen then lit up as a huge smile and eruption of laughter spewed forth.
It seems she hadn't put my good socks away in the drawer for me after all.
She'd seen them on the floor, thought they were the pile for the rubbish bin and rushed outside to chuck them in the bin just as the rubbish truck pulled up.
Every pair of socks I owned is now at the bottom of a landfill somewhere.
Groan.
Oh well, it seems I might have to go barefoot from now until my birthday in September.
At least the drawer won't get jammed again any time soon.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
