As Archduchess, whose socks ought to be dry, extremely dry (fresh out of the dryer, in fact), it is my responsibility to own weird socks. It is my duty to cherish them. It is my mission to wear them until they are reduced to little more than holes with a bit of wool in between.
It is also my duty to do laundry, and there happened to be rather a lot of socks one day.
First there was this:
The top pair belongs to me, the next one to Sis, and the bottom one to Mom. It runs in the family (pun fully intended)
And then they kept on coming:
Stripes, cows, witches, flowers, hearts... We also have peacocks, spiders, birds, and chili recipes, among others.
A sudden realization: my first pair of plain socks came into my possession only four years ago.
Socks are like good wine, they make a regular day more enjoyable and a special day just splendid. (Aside from the aging thing... Socks don't age that well.)
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Um... This was supposed to be a scheduled post for Tuesday, but apparently Blogger seems to have gotten around that by simply declaring today's date to be the 29th. I stand in awe of the powers of Google.
3 comments:
I'm just about to go to bed on the 27th and I'm approximately 15 hours ahead of you and Blogger says that your post is 7 minutes old. So I'm not sure how it became the 29th. However I can say that you have rouunded off my day witha huge smile. Thank you.
I think I once had a pair of socks with a coloured ring around the top. Does that count as not being plain? Aren't men boring (well, some of us).
Jealous of your socks. I used to have a fine collection, then I became all serious and went for plain black. I mourn their loss.
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