"Well my whole Saturday was eaten up looking for that damn thing." Barn told us through his bathroom door.
"Was it worth it? Well is anything worth anything? I mean...I have the right one. So the other one is near. I know it. If I didn't have either I would just wear another pair because they're missing together. But one has to be close to the other. My search radius is pretty limited. And I've been looking on and off since about 8:00 am"
Meaning he searched in just one spot for a good 17 hours.
"Yeah, pretty much spent my Saturday. Never wanna do it again. I will keep all socks taped together so if a pair goes missing, a pair goes missing. Enough. I blame my Dad. My name is Scott Andrea Barn, so...think about that shit. Gives me some girly middle name and makes me feel inadequate. Right?"
No comment. We are reporters, not therapists. "What's your name? Huh? Did your Daddy leave you but take your brother? I mean, why split up a pair? And his name is Henry Randall Barn. That's a beefy name like Chunky's Beef Stew with the football players, ya know? I bet he hasn't wasted a single Saturday and gets to eat any kind of soup he wants! I'm not chunky. In fact, I have a reputation of being the exact opposite of chunky. Whatever."
Mr. Barn never found his xxl sock and made sure we reported it was xxl,
"Like the Magic Mike sequel. Lots of chunk," he just wore another pair and has plans for next Saturday.
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