30 April 2008

I think that I would like to blame this on my sister. You see, she and I wear the exact same kind of socks. The kind that come from the PX (What is it in the Air Force? BX?). She lived with us for a few months after she was medically discharged from basic training, and we did our laundry together. This caused problems as I had a gazillion and a half pairs of black boot socks and a gazillion and a half pairs of white PT socks. She also had the same kind of socks.

Before she came, my socks did not have holes. They didn't. I swear. Okay, I should probably admit that I'd had some of these socks for close to six years. However, before she arrived, these socks did not have holes.

Then, she came. All of a sudden our laundry got mixed up and somehow, many ragged holes started appearing in my socks. I know that I didn't suddenly acquire some massive foot acidic-sock-eating bacteria. You'd think I'd notice if I had, right?

My theory is that Christa shoved all her holey socks into my laundry basket, thereby getting new socks without having to pay for them. It's just a theory, mind you. (If she's reading this, she's getting up-in-arms about now. She's denied it vehemently. All I've got to say is, "I think the lady doth protest too much.")

Of course, it could also be that some of my socks are six years old. But shh, you didn't hear that.

I went through our laundry recently and pulled out all of the holey socks: Aaron's, mine (Jen), Nate's, and Sammi's.--

Look! Our names are in alphabetical AND age order! Aren't we cool?

--Anyywaay. So, I pulled out all the holey socks.





The above is the holey sock pile, if you can't tell. The little toy truck is in there so you can see how enormous the pile is. Additionally, I had to go grab that truck from one of the toy bins in the playroom. You'll never be able to find toy trucks, books, or puzzle pieces just loitering in my living room. Nope. Really! (Please don't test me on this; just take my word!)

We were already planning on going into The City (you know, the one I live twenty minutes away from, the stinkiest city in Iowa) for some sandals for the kids, groceries, and other minutiae. We added socks to the list.

I got a wild hair up my-- err, anyway, I decided that I wanted some COLORED socks. You know, ones that aren't white? (Did you notice that there is only one non-white sock in that pile? Yeeaah.) I'm branching out in my wardrobe. My socks are no longer required to be white.

When we got to the store(s), I looked everywhere for some cool mismatched colorful socks. Why? Because when I go out, I go aaall out. I wanted some spastic socks. I wanted some colorful, cheerful, jump up and shout, "HALLELUJAH, WE ARE ALIVE," socks. Like these ones. But, you know, not $2.66 a sock (plus shipping and handling).

...

...

Do you think I found any shocking, eccentric socks?

No. No, I didn't.

So now my plan is just to go barefoot for all of eternity. At least until I find some amazing COME TO MAMA socks.

You know. Because I'm stubborn like that.

Labels: random