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.)
***
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.
