Is there anything in the world less fun than sorting socks? Well sure there is, but for today’s blogging purpose, there isn’t?
When I was a little girl my sister and had to do the laundry and we would sit there forever trying to sort whose of the four girls was whose. I would just pretend to be sorting and let my sisters do it and then take the leftovers and put them loose into my drawers.
Then, I grew up and finagled to get my husband to do the laundry. So still, no sorting socks. We have a system. Buy all the socks in the house exactly the same brand and type. Then put a tiny basket between the washer and dryer and dump all the socks in it. Then make the hypothetical kids go laundry basket diving every day. Of course, they are welcome to sort socks if they dislike this method of laundry. This does lead to a lot of missing mom and dad socks, but it is pretty cute to see my eight-year-old trying to put his shoes on with giant socks on. They both wear the same size socks as me.
Really, I think sock-sorting is a metaphor for the way I live my life. Reach your hand in and take what ya get. Embrace them, don’t keep searching for the right match. I challenge you to have a socky adventure. Today, I am going introduce you to Ms. Socksy. I tried to get her picture but she wouldn’t quit humping Jason’s neck.
Lady or Not… Here I Come!