It Socks

I am folding socks today. I had to recruit two of my kids to assist and not because the task is so daunting and the pile is so high. But the task is daunting and the pile is high, and I get depressed sitting here surrounded by socks that are procreating as I sort. My one good wool sock begat and begat and is still begating and they are taking over the basement to the point where, to be effective, I have to move them to the living room. People come over and I say, "Here, sit and have a cookie and you aren't leaving until you fold a dozen pair or two".

I think the best thing to do is to throw a few away. But which? I love the wool – one of Maria's favorite things. I like the sporty strips and cool patterns. Plain black silk feel good. I love the sort-a see through-ish ones that grampa used to wear to church.

This is gonna hurt.

And it's gotta be done. I gotta pick the ones that I can handle and toss the rest away.

And there's my metaphor. Like my favorite GA. Only if he told this story it would have a happier ending with all the black socks being matched and put snugly away in the appropriate drawer cause his wife was a peach and bought him thirty of all the same.

My wife is not a peach, and I buy my own socks. I have a socks fixation. However my socks fixation is taking over the world. If I don't clean house, I am gonna be cleaning house for the rest of my life.

Let us see now, clean ones proverbial house before socks take over, get rid of the old beliefs and traditions that are holding us back, buy all the same socks or don't be bothered by mis-matched leggings ...did I get them all? Maybe there's another one or two there.

You decide.