The old, municipal sockieboy footslave suffers a thousand
indignities every day. But the greatest of these must surely be having to face
his esteemed customers’ unkempt and creased SOCKS and to stare them in the eye,
whilst not being permitted to talk about said socks, even though he is
naturally (as a slave) anxious to know all about his customers' superior foot coverings?
- Their provenance?
- How they feel on the customer’s feet and ankles?
- Would the customer like him to straighten out their sock
creases with his nugatory nose?
Every silent stitch is, effectively, an affront to his
feckless, sockieboy face, not that the pretty wearer of the SOCKS gives a damn
about his pathetic predilection towards them. She just wants her feet
kiss-respected after a long day walking around in her SHOES and SOCKS!
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| Faced with the indignity of having to look at SOCK... |
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| ...but not being able to enquire about it! |
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| When it comes to the silent sockieboy-slave's customers' SOCKS, he can look - but not speak! |
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| Oh how humbling, oh how humiliating for him! |
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| He would dearly love to know the provenance of each and every crease in her SOCKS! |
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| His utterly humbling view of the pretty customer's creased, green SOCK! |
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| SOCKS, you see, are the pinnacle of his pathetic existence! |
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| He spends all his time down amongst his customers' SOCKS! |
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| For their part, the sock-wearers DESPISE him! |
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| And rightly so, for he's just a pathetic wannabe SOCK-SLAVEY! |
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| She doesn't give a damn about his sockieboy frustrations or predlictions towards her SOCKS! |
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| Haha, that's right sockieboy - study those SOCKS; mentally admire them; ponder them. Wish you could be one of them! |
