If we were all hobbits, there would not be this enormous sock mountain on the kitchen table. It is comprised of the various socks of the five household members; when Herself folds laundry, if a pair is not easily found, the leftover socks go into this basket. Eventually the socks reach a critical mass, and a weeding-and-matching session is in order. Occasionally, Herself tries to bribe one of the Offspring into doing so, with a (fulfilled) promise of remuneration for the effort. The pile of socks in the basket grows much smaller, and then gradually larger again over time, until the whole cycle repeats itself.
I think that this time, we will stuff all of the remaining odd socks into a single big sock, and give it to the dogs to play with. They love socks. It will be entertaining.
Poetry Thursday, Remembering Ben
1 week ago