Du dun, du dun, du dun, du dun, du dun du de la dun......
They're out there. Waiting to take over your home and life. It's insidious in it's subtlety and the more male human species in your house the higher the risk. What is the invader? Wood-boring ants? Black mold? Asbestos? No.
Day old socks. Used and discarded in the most inopportune places. Where are these found you ask?
- In the saucepan in the cupboard
- Under the sink in the bathroom
- Under the dresser in the bedroom
- On the floor 2 feet from the washer
- Wedged in the couch cushions
- Where the cereal is stored
- Behind the toilet
- Stuck in the seats in the minivan
Boys, boys and boys. The type of boys who abhor the restriction of freedom to their feet. And it's worse because there should always be a pair and very seldom they're not.
Just when I take some time with my laundry basket slung in the crook of my arm ready to go sock picking I wind up with numbers like 5 or 3 or sometimes 7. Is it a conspiracy? Am I just paranoid or just feeling weary from the rush of blood to my head bending over so much?
Scientists may be on the verge of solving our world and health dilemmas but this will always plague us. If I could get away with it, I'd encourage the manufacturers to include duct tape with each new package. If anything I could head off the problem before it begins by hearing the rip of flesh with each attempt. Then again I wouldn't want to cause PTSD (post-traumatic sock disorder).
Ahh, the injustice of it all.