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Description
DIGNITY LOST

He came into his room to change into his work clothes. He had had a big night the night before, and was still quite tired, but work was work, and he had to go in. He stood, yawning, before his clothes chair. He suddenly froze, mid-yawn, as a horrifying sight met his eyes. He closed and rubbed his eyes, for he must be seeing things, then looked back at the clothes chair. The same horrifying sight met his eyes yet again. He still couldn’t believe it, and so he left the room, took a deep breath, and went to brush his teeth in the bathroom, followed by the customary splash of cold water to the face. That ought to wake him up. He re-entered the bedroom, and the same horrifying sight met his eyes again. So horrifying was the sight that met his eyes for the third time, that he had to sit down, and he did, on the bed, where he sat, staring in horror at the clothes chair. His sock had definitely lost its pair.
After his stupefied horror came denial. No, it can’t have just disappeared, it must have fallen off the chair and been accidentally kicked under the bed. No, it wasn’t there. The dog must have come in early in the morning and nicked it. But wait, the dog was still at the kennels. Ok, then maybe a bird had come in the window, which had been left open all night, and taken it to make its nest. But if a bird could get in through the window, no doubt something larger could, a petty thief or burglar, bent on destroying men’s lives by taking their socks, their dignity. He shoulders slumped in despair.
At this point, she came in to apply her makeup. She barely glanced at him, as he sat, his head slowly falling into his hands. She sat at her makeup chair and started the application. Only then, when she looked at her husband in the dressing table mirror, did she see he was not dressed in his work clothes, but, rather, sitting with shoulders slumped, head bowed, on the bed, still in his pyjamas.
“What’s wrong, honey?” When he did not answer, she turned around where she sat, slightly concerned.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
Through his head were whirling all kinds of horrors. His dignity stolen, he would make his way to work, and when he got there, he would be laughed at, sniggered at, and endlessly tormented as he made his way, one-socked, towards his desk, by his once colleagues and workmates. When he arrived at his desk, an announcement would be made, calling him to the boss’s office, and, once there, the boss would shake his head and burden him with great, disappointed looks, after which he would be fired, told to clean out his desk of any personal items, and asked to leave the premises, all of which he would do, trying in vain to block out the jeers of his once colleagues and workmates. He would look up once, to see if there were any friendly faces, wishing him luck, in the crowd, and there wouldn’t be, and he would gather his personal items, and leave the premises. Once out on the street, he would naturally begin looking for another job, but with only one sock, the interviewer would look somewhat uncomfortable and tell him not to ring them, for they would ring him, which they will never do. Soon, without a job, he would fall behind on his rent, and he and his wife would be kicked out of their home. His wife would leave him for a man with two socks, and he would end up on the street, alone, penniless, and with only one sock.
His wife’s voice cut through these thoughts, as he sat, shoulders slumped, head in hands, on the bed in the bedroom of their rented home.
“Honey? What’s the matter? Did something happen? Tell me. You’ve gone all pale.”
He wanted to tell her everything, how she would leave him for a two-socked man, that all this would soon be gone, and he, just a distant memory, but all that he could manage to utter was:
“We’ve been robbed.”
“What was that darling?” for he had muttered it into his hands. He looked up despairingly.
“We’ve been robbed.” His head sank back into his hands.
There was a stunned silence, after which her response was instantaneous. She ran back to her dressing table and started pulling out the drawers, searching to see if any of her jewelry was missing. Finding nothing gone, she rushed out into the kitchen, and he could hear her rummaging through various drawers and cupboards, to see if their silver and china ware were still there, and, finding them still in the various drawers and cupboards, he heard her race outside to the garage where all the power tools were kept, and, upon finding nothing missing there, she stormed back inside.
“There is nothing missing! How do you know we’ve been robbed? Everything is still here. What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”
He looked up to see her looking down at him, arms crossed, her face flushed from rushing all over the house.
“We’ve been robbed.” Yet again, that was all he could say.
She threw her arms out in disgust.
“We haven’t been robbed! Everything is still here, and nothing of any importance to anyone has been stolen!” She stomped back to her dressing table and, as his head fell back into his hands, she continued with her application. There was a long, tense silence, broken only by the sound of brush strokes, as she expertly applied her working face.
“It’s been stolen.” His head was out of his hands, and his eyes were glued to the clothes chair again.
“What’s been stolen!?” She burst, jumping up and throwing her arms open, a cloud of various cosmetics filling the air. She stormed over to him, hands on hips, her face an overdone thundercloud.
He looked up at her, then at the clothes chair. Her eyes followed his.
“My sock. It’s gone. It’s been stolen.”
“Your sock has been stolen.” A cold calmness had come over her.
He nodded his head, never taking his eyes off the chair.
“Your sock has been stolen,” she repeated.
He looked up at her, slightly confused.
“Yes… my sock has been stolen.”
And she couldn’t hold back any longer. The ice cold calm was replaced by an exploding volcano.
“What the hell do you mean, your sock’s been stolen? What on earth are you talking about?! I can’t believe I married you, that I’ve stayed with you for this long!”
He looked up at her. Deeply shocked and confused.
“I-um-I - ”
“What the hell is wrong with you?! I go searching around the house, thinking something of great importance has gone missing, been stolen, and you tell me your SOCK has been stolen?!” Her face had turned the most curious shade of purple.
“You send me into a panic, scaring my like that, over your sock?! You selfish bastard!” She stopped, breathing hard. It was all she could do to stop herself from breaking his nose. He had the most severe look of concern on his face.
“What’s wrong, honey?” When she did not answer, he paused, slightly scared.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
She glared at him a moment longer, then, still breathing hard and trying desperately to contain her anger, she calmly walked back to her dressing table and started reapplying the makeup which had been dashed away in her moment of blind-fury.
“Honey? What’s the matter? Tell me. You’ve gone all pale.” He had turned around where he sat, the look of concern strongly held in place.
She took a deep breath.
“Honey. Look down at your feet.”
He did, and he was so entirely drowned in embarrassment he had to leave the room.

Description
DIGNITY LOST

He came into his room to change into his work clothes. He had had a big night the night before, and was still quite tired, but work was work, and he had to go in. He stood, yawning, before his clothes chair. He suddenly froze, mid-yawn, as a horrifying sight met his eyes. He closed and rubbed his eyes, for he must be seeing things, then looked back at the clothes chair. The same horrifying sight met his eyes yet again. He still couldn’t believe it, and so he left the room, took a deep breath, and went to brush his teeth in the bathroom, followed by the customary splash of cold water to the face. That ought to wake him up. He re-entered the bedroom, and the same horrifying sight met his eyes again. So horrifying was the sight that met his eyes for the third time, that he had to sit down, and he did, on the bed, where he sat, staring in horror at the clothes chair. His sock had definitely lost its pair.
After his stupefied horror came denial. No, it can’t have just disappeared, it must have fallen off the chair and been accidentally kicked under the bed. No, it wasn’t there. The dog must have come in early in the morning and nicked it. But wait, the dog was still at the kennels. Ok, then maybe a bird had come in the window, which had been left open all night, and taken it to make its nest. But if a bird could get in through the window, no doubt something larger could, a petty thief or burglar, bent on destroying men’s lives by taking their socks, their dignity. He shoulders slumped in despair.
At this point, she came in to apply her makeup. She barely glanced at him, as he sat, his head slowly falling into his hands. She sat at her makeup chair and started the application. Only then, when she looked at her husband in the dressing table mirror, did she see he was not dressed in his work clothes, but, rather, sitting with shoulders slumped, head bowed, on the bed, still in his pyjamas.
“What’s wrong, honey?” When he did not answer, she turned around where she sat, slightly concerned.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
Through his head were whirling all kinds of horrors. His dignity stolen, he would make his way to work, and when he got there, he would be laughed at, sniggered at, and endlessly tormented as he made his way, one-socked, towards his desk, by his once colleagues and workmates. When he arrived at his desk, an announcement would be made, calling him to the boss’s office, and, once there, the boss would shake his head and burden him with great, disappointed looks, after which he would be fired, told to clean out his desk of any personal items, and asked to leave the premises, all of which he would do, trying in vain to block out the jeers of his once colleagues and workmates. He would look up once, to see if there were any friendly faces, wishing him luck, in the crowd, and there wouldn’t be, and he would gather his personal items, and leave the premises. Once out on the street, he would naturally begin looking for another job, but with only one sock, the interviewer would look somewhat uncomfortable and tell him not to ring them, for they would ring him, which they will never do. Soon, without a job, he would fall behind on his rent, and he and his wife would be kicked out of their home. His wife would leave him for a man with two socks, and he would end up on the street, alone, penniless, and with only one sock.
His wife’s voice cut through these thoughts, as he sat, shoulders slumped, head in hands, on the bed in the bedroom of their rented home.
“Honey? What’s the matter? Did something happen? Tell me. You’ve gone all pale.”
He wanted to tell her everything, how she would leave him for a two-socked man, that all this would soon be gone, and he, just a distant memory, but all that he could manage to utter was:
“We’ve been robbed.”
“What was that darling?” for he had muttered it into his hands. He looked up despairingly.
“We’ve been robbed.” His head sank back into his hands.
There was a stunned silence, after which her response was instantaneous. She ran back to her dressing table and started pulling out the drawers, searching to see if any of her jewelry was missing. Finding nothing gone, she rushed out into the kitchen, and he could hear her rummaging through various drawers and cupboards, to see if their silver and china ware were still there, and, finding them still in the various drawers and cupboards, he heard her race outside to the garage where all the power tools were kept, and, upon finding nothing missing there, she stormed back inside.
“There is nothing missing! How do you know we’ve been robbed? Everything is still here. What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”
He looked up to see her looking down at him, arms crossed, her face flushed from rushing all over the house.
“We’ve been robbed.” Yet again, that was all he could say.
She threw her arms out in disgust.
“We haven’t been robbed! Everything is still here, and nothing of any importance to anyone has been stolen!” She stomped back to her dressing table and, as his head fell back into his hands, she continued with her application. There was a long, tense silence, broken only by the sound of brush strokes, as she expertly applied her working face.
“It’s been stolen.” His head was out of his hands, and his eyes were glued to the clothes chair again.
“What’s been stolen!?” She burst, jumping up and throwing her arms open, a cloud of various cosmetics filling the air. She stormed over to him, hands on hips, her face an overdone thundercloud.
He looked up at her, then at the clothes chair. Her eyes followed his.
“My sock. It’s gone. It’s been stolen.”
“Your sock has been stolen.” A cold calmness had come over her.
He nodded his head, never taking his eyes off the chair.
“Your sock has been stolen,” she repeated.
He looked up at her, slightly confused.
“Yes… my sock has been stolen.”
And she couldn’t hold back any longer. The ice cold calm was replaced by an exploding volcano.
“What the hell do you mean, your sock’s been stolen? What on earth are you talking about?! I can’t believe I married you, that I’ve stayed with you for this long!”
He looked up at her. Deeply shocked and confused.
“I-um-I - ”
“What the hell is wrong with you?! I go searching around the house, thinking something of great importance has gone missing, been stolen, and you tell me your SOCK has been stolen?!” Her face had turned the most curious shade of purple.
“You send me into a panic, scaring my like that, over your sock?! You selfish bastard!” She stopped, breathing hard. It was all she could do to stop herself from breaking his nose. He had the most severe look of concern on his face.
“What’s wrong, honey?” When she did not answer, he paused, slightly scared.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
She glared at him a moment longer, then, still breathing hard and trying desperately to contain her anger, she calmly walked back to her dressing table and started reapplying the makeup which had been dashed away in her moment of blind-fury.
“Honey? What’s the matter? Tell me. You’ve gone all pale.” He had turned around where he sat, the look of concern strongly held in place.
She took a deep breath.
“Honey. Look down at your feet.”
He did, and he was so entirely drowned in embarrassment he had to leave the room.