Neurosis of the Week: Socks

I have a husband and four kids. We have a few socks among us.

I don't think I am alone in my detestation of mating socks. I'd also like to know what kind of dirty mind came up with the term "mating" as it applies to socks. Why that particular word, exactly? Why not "pairing" or "matching"? Is it because socks left sitting in the basket as long as mine do get into mischief and multiply all by themselves? Is that why I keep finding solitary socks that I've never seen before and can't find a twin for--because my sporty anklets are getting it on with my husband's black dress crews? I'm done having babies, but my socks are still feeling that maternal urge, is that it? Wow. That's just a little disturbing to think about.

Anyway. What was I saying?

Oh yes.

I tend to procrastination; it's one of my worst habits. Especially when it comes to socks. And ironing. And mopping the kitchen floor. And vacuuming. And weeding the flowerbeds. But especially socks.

So I tend to just toss them in a laundry basket to wait until I sit down to watch a movie except I nearly never watch movies and so I don't know why I keep deceiving myself with that excuse.

So here is my typical basket of socks.



Then early one morning when I had gotten out of the shower and realized that I had no clean jeans in my closet and had wandered oh-so-casually out to the laundry room half dressed (it was 7:15am and I was reasonably sure all my kids were still sleeping plus the laundry is only a short skip down the hall from my room so it was okay right?), I looked upon the basket of sadly disorganized socks. And behold, the socks cried out to me from the basket. And I, the Homemaker, did hear the cries of my socks in the basket. And I had mercy on the inhabitants of the basket. And I said unto the socks, "Behold, today will I deliver thee from thine afflictions, and thou shalt go forth to dwell in drawers and on feet until thou shalt return unto me to be washed clean again."

So I dumped the basket out on the folding table, then got my jeans on, and went back to the bathroom to pull my face and hair together for the day.


And forgot all about the socks.

I saw the pile of socks nearly every day when I dashed into the laundry room for this or that, to put in a load of laundry or fold stuff hot from the dryer, but it always seemed like I was pressed for time and had no time to waste on socks.

Here is the pile of socks a week later, having been picked through by various family members in search of socks, and added to as clean laundry came out of the pile.



And there it sits to this day. Although now that I've confessed my hatred of mating socks, I am suddenly feeling in the mood to mate socks! I'm thinking maybe this evening I'll lure my husband into the bedroom with fragrant candles and romantic music, and we'll do a little mating. Of socks! Gosh people, get your minds out of the gutter!

Ahem.