I know what Rumpelstiltskin did when his spinning straw into gold deal went bust, he started a line of children’s socks and sweaters.

These things have to be stitched by someone with a heart of stone. I was thinking this standing in a department store trying to find a pair soft enough for my daughter.

I fondled what seemed like hundreds — they all felt like sand paper. The few sweaters I pawed at along the way, felt equally horrible.

You’ve heard of the Princess and the Pea? I have a different take on it. Our story is called The Princess and her Mild Sensory Issues. As a kid I remember being tortured by the feeling of tags against my neck. They still bother me, I just figured out how to cut them out without leaving a giant hole.

For my daughter, it’s like someone took all her senses and turned them up a couple of notches. When she was a baby she would cry when we ran the water into the bathtub because it was too loud. Last year, we took her to a museum overseas. The toilet was one of those that sounds like a volcanic eruption every time you trigger the sensor by breathing or twitching. When she didn’t come out after a few moments I went into her stall. She was huddled in the corner, terrified to move in case the toilet erupted again.

We couldn’t dry our hands either because there were no hand towels and the dryer sounded like an aircraft taking off.

But back to the problem at hand. It seems that only the finest scratchy fabric will do for Bermuda’s students and I desperately needed socks.

My daughter grew about a foot since I bought her 20 pairs in August. The teacher called to say she needed navy knee-highs. I said, somewhat ironically: “They are knee highs, just make her pull them up. She likes to keep them shoved deep into her shoes.”

I insisted she show the teacher how high they reached. They missed her knees by several inches — no matter how much I tugged. Blush.

So I had to buy another bunch of bigger socks, at $5 per pair.

Maybe I should take up knitting.