Socks

Yes, socks.

I generally don't wear socks often. Living in snow-less Florida and having unusually long feet means that flip flops are my day-to-day shoe. Ask anyone. Black flips flops with a little bumble bee on them or leather flip flops that are on their last flop; I wear one or the other every day.

Which means I can avoid socks. Socks make me feel claustrophobic. Socks are funny shaped, and they get sweaty, and they are a pain to deal with when doing laundrey, and one always disappears from the dryer... you can probably tell that I am not a fan of socks.

But would you like to know how I spent my evening last night? Helping out Milli because she found a basket of about a bazillion kajillion (these are precise numbers here) SOCKS. It took me the better part of two hours to pair as many pairs as I could, scan the nearly identical remaining socks to try to match them, and ultimately end up with about 47 zillion (again, exact figures here) pairs of socks, and about 32 bazillion "pairless" socks. There is literally an entire load of laundrey in the washer made up of paired socks. Incredible.

I am not complaining; I had nothing else to do whilst watching 'The Devil Wears Prada' for the umpteenth time, and offered to help.

Ultimately, I feel bad for the poor "single" socks. They have lost their partner, their mate, their other half. I sympathize with you, little single socks. My other half is flying helicopters and watching Discovery Channel in Florida while I am doing wedding-things here in Michigan. I am a sad other-half-less little sock.

I should really talk to a professional about this sock issue. Or maybe just finish watching 'The Devil Wears Prada.' They don't wear socks in that movie.