I have a mega, major, big, HUGE (get the idea?) housekeeping confession to make.
Are you ready for it?
OK here goes- I HATE SOCKS.
Not wearing socks. I love a good comfortable slip-on pair of toe warming goodness as much as the next girl.
But where socks become my downfall is when they go through the laundry.
I'm sorry, what?
There you have it. My greatest weakness has been exposed.
Why, you may ask? Because socks come to my house to DIE.
But only one at a time. A pair never goes missing. No, just one at a time.
I can always find ONE of my favorite pairs of socks that matches my outfit perfectly, and thirty minutes of searching for the other special sock later, I finally realize that sockless sounds like a good look for the subzero temperature of that blistery winter day.
It's kind of like the block monster that lives under the couch. Every time the kids play with the blocks (at least once a day) ONE block magically disappears. At first I didn't notice, but after a week, the block container feels noticeably lighter and after a month I start to wonder why Addison's 75 piece block set has been almost cut in half. Where do those blocks go? No one knows (except that monster under the couch with an insatiable appetite).
Anyhoo, back to the socks. It's a real problem. For most of our marriage, we have had an odd sock box (about the size of a dresser) that keeps the extra socks that are floating around. Where did the other half of the pairs go?? Nobody knows.
A few months into my journey of housekeeping, I discovered that MATCHING socks are highly overrated. Wearing a pair of merely coordinating socks is now a very acceptable in-thing (what? you haven't heard about this?).
"well, they both belong to the greenish family" I rationalize as I smartly (or not so) step out of my house wearing my mismatched friends. What, like there are police for this kind of thing?
Tall socks, plaid socks, small socks, colored socks....socks, socks, socks
they all come to my house to die. When I put a new pair in my basket at the store, I swear I hear them screaming their last wish (to be rescued from me, no doubt)
As I count the specific pairs into the wash, out of the wash, into the dryer, out of the dryer and then up on the couch to be matched...somehow, somewhere half of the pair slips away- dissolves into thin air-gets kidnapped by the block monster-runs (or hops) far, far away-I really don't know.
(don't even get me started on baby socks- having to search for things that tiny should be ILLEGAL.)
I think someone should invent a surgically placed sock.
I would choose a black pair to be surgically placed on my feet since I wear a LOT of black. This special sock can be washed in the shower and yet will dry fluffy and comfortable while still in place. I NEVER will have to take them off to wash them with the rest of the laundry, therefore I always keep both of them, together.
Pure genius, I tell you. (Shark Tank, you should get on this billion dollar idea quickly)
Backing away from sarcasm and focusing on the issue at hand, WHY am I airing my dirty laundry today(pun intended)?
To point out the irony in life.
You see, when Addison went back in to have her SMO (foot braces) adjusted last week, they added a toe strap. (Which has been hugely helpful for her!)
But that's still not the point.
With these special braces, she can ONLY wear medically prescribed socks (WHAT???)
and get this-
insurance will only pay for FOUR PAIRS of socks a month.
The sock gods have come back to bitterly punish me for years and years of abusive sock transgressions.
Addison HAS to wear her braces, and she HAS to wear socks under them or else she'll get horrible blisters and such.
and I only get FOUR CHANCES to keep the pairs together.
Oh, and the medically prescribed toe-separating socks have a specific Right and Left sock that can't be interchanged.
Are you kidding me?
I have a bad feeling that I'll be back in a week holding 4 Rights with a sad little girl who can't wear her SMOs because her mommy lost all of the Lefts due to her horrible sock management skills.
Excuse me a minute as I crawl under a large box (ironically the misfit sock box) and think about what I have done.
Oh the agony.
p.s. any and all "sock management skill" techniques are welcome, but please, no lectures. This sockless wonder is well aware of her sins.