Socks

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. 

Wretched socks. 

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.