Under Attack

I have a habit of leaving my socks laying around on the bedroom floor after I take them off. Gllen particularly hates the nylon knee-highs I have been wearing all winter. He calls them "land mines" because he will step on them and they will stick to his bare feet (he really should exfoliate more). So this morning, as Gllen was shuffling out of bed, I noticed that he unknowingly stepped on one of these socks and it was attached to his heel.

Trying to get his attention as he meandered off, I called out "Bomb! Bomb!" because I couldn't remember the term "land mine". This message took a while to get to him and he was already down the hall entering the kitchen before it caught up to his sleep-clogged ears. I couldn't see him anymore, but I could hear him freaking out: "Aaah! What the...Aaah!" (scuffle, scuffle, scuffle)

I followed the commotion and found the sock lying in a wilted heap on the floor and Gllen standing a few feet away staring at it in shock. He glanced up at me and accused "I thought you were shouting 'BUG!' and I thought some giant bug was attacking me!"

I looked at the murdered sock and said, "No, I was telling you that you stepped on a bomb."

"It's called a land mine." He growled. He sidestepped the sock and went to his office. I picked up the sock and brought it back to the bedroom, absentmindedly dropping it back on the floor.