I’ve never claimed to be the smartest, shrewdest person on earth, but I’m not a doorknob, either. I can think. I can understand. I’m equipped with cognitive function. So I know when I’m being insulted and I was insulted by my socks.
The sock manufacturer, anyway. Socks can’t talk — unless you put them on your hands and turn them into sock puppets, then yackety-yackety-yak. They don’t shut up, but they’re usually affable and good-natured. I can’t say the same for Fruit of the Loom, though. They took a cheap shot at every single sock buyer in the world with their care instructions: Do not iron. Really?
Do they really think customers are so flipping stoopid they must be warned not to iron socks?
Well, they’re right. We’re stoopid … for buying their crummy merchandise. Against my better judgment I went ahead and bought a three-pack of white crew socks for $6, brought them home, laundered them according to the sharply worded instructions, and what happened? They strangled my legs. I mean it, the socks were so damn tight I got muffin tops wearing them. Right there on my bony shins, actual muffin tops.
Caveat emptor, indeed. Be a wise emptor and caveat those dudes at Fruit of the Loom. They’ll throttle your ankles.
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