They are at it again. I can hear them giggling and whispering behind my back. It never fails. Just when I think I am in control, that I have things firmly in hand - Kaboom!
The socks of the world have united against me. I have no less than 8 different socks in varying shade of pearl grey, mud spattered white, coffee stained yellow and black with stripes, black with ribbed coating and not a one has a mate.
I feel like I have become the host of the dating game for socks. In this corner over here we have a lovely white sock with a small hole in the big toe – extra air conditioning really- looking extremely dapper and in need of a mate. And over here looking suave and sexy is gold toe reinforced cashmere sock eagerly in need of a mating…
I swear, they go in as two and come out as one. It makes no sense. Does the laundry machine eat them; chew them up and spit them out as lint bits? I just don’t know. Where do these rapscallions hide? Amidst and among the shirt sleeves and coat tails? In the lining of swim suits? In the hoods of sweat shirts? Why can’t they just stay with their mates? What is this divorce court? It is out of control.
And then just when I think I am going to just toss the bunch of rabble rousers and start over – or maybe turn them into dusting clothes for hard to reach place or puppets with bug eyes for me to use as wake up calls for DH and DS, just then out pops a varmint from the inner lining of a recently changed set of sheets or from the folds of a swim towel giving me a smug look as it plops very unceremoniously to the ground.
Failing dismally at my ability to manage the socks I see little hope for the rest of the house. I think it is time to think about a trade-in- I will talk to the DH – maybe there is a good trade in on a used model of house wife these days…
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