Socks

A have two friends who hate socks. Hate them. Never wear them.

Me? I'm a socks person. Perhaps that is because said friends are uber-stylish and wear the most wonderful (except when they cause you to fall) high heels pretty much every single day.

Me? Again, not so much. I'm mostly wear loafers 'round the house and to work.

Like many, I've recently been trying to declutter. Abel tends to be a "stasher" when he cleans. You know what I mean: out of sight out of mind. When he picks up the house he just stashes stuff places. For example, if he cleans out the trunk of the car, he puts everything into a big bag and puts said bag into the basement. Is the trunk clean? Yes! But, is there now a random bag of junk and not-junk in the basement? Uh, yeah.

To date I've sorted, thrown out and donated from the following: our kitchen utensil drawer, my jewelry box, Lucas's sock and underwear drawer (I can't even tell you all the crap that has been stuffed in there!), and my own sock drawer. (Ah, yes, finally back to the socks!)

Let me also explain Abel's theory of unpaired socks: when a sock comes out of the dryer without a mate, just throw it back into the dirty laundry. Eventually they'll meet up again.

Hmmmm....

So my point today (ah, yes, a point!) is that wearing a bad pair of socks can ruin your day. Today, for example, my socks are falling down. And it is driving me crazy. I resolve to throw them away when I get home rather than put them in the laundry. Because every single time I wear them they drive me crazy. And if they get back into my drawer, I guarantee I'll wear them again. And they'll drive me crazy again.

Just the thought of throwing them out is making me so happy.

The end.