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I hate socks

I often have this beautiful fantasy, we will pack all our belongings, and move to a tropical beach somewhere.  A beautiful place that’s warm all year round, and, where we can all wear nothing but sandals, flip-flops or even just go barefooted all the time.  What a glorious day it will be!  When that happens, I will “generously” dump donate all my unneeded socks on some poor unsuspecting charity, who will foolishly think they have gained some crazy wealth of socks.

I have 5 boys and 2 girls, who are the bookends.  The biggest fights in my house are over girls and socks.  The girls argue about girls, the boys argue about girls too, but for different reasons.  But they all argue over socks in the same way.  The fact that the dryer eats socks is a fact that is lost on the masses.  The fact that he/she is “stealing” my socks on the other hand is HUGE.  If you’ve ever raised a teenager, you know they buy their own stuff from time to time because “it’s the best”.  So of course, it’s theirs and theirs alone.  Heaven forbid anyone else should look at it cross-eyed.  But if it’s a pair of socks, all hell will break loose.

In my house, everyone gets a laundry basket with their name on it, I shove their laundry in their basket, and they put it away.  If I accidentally put the wrong shirt in the wrong basket, they would give it to the rightful owner, no harm, no foul.  But if I put the wrong socks in their basket all hell breaks loose.  It’s gotten so ridiculous my youngest, who is entirely too small to wear anyone else’s socks, puts them on and pulls them up to her thighs just to hear the boys freak out. I got so disgusted, I came up with a plan.  Yeah, yeah, I know, what was I thinking?  To keep me from being wrong and starting so many fights, I stopped sorting socks.  I just put all the socks in one basket.  Let them go find their own.  Problem solved, right?  WRONG!

I was woken up one morning by a massive growling fight in the living room, which was foolishly located next to my bedroom.  When I walked in the living room, I found 3 teenage boys beating on each other in a heap on the floor.  Of course they are all bigger than me by this point in their lives, so when I tried to break it up, one of them got out of the heap, picked me up, moved me to a safe distance and jumped back in the fray.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry with my kids, not that they didn’t deserve it, but that was just insulting.

I finally figured out that this whole mess was over one pair of socks, and out of sheer frustration I formed a grand plan.  I grabbed all the socks in the living room and threw them in the trash.  By now I was livid, and in the zone, I didn’t realize they weren’t fighting anymore, but, according to honey, they were all silently staring at me.  I pulled out every sock I could find from the laundry room, bedroom dressers, hampers and laundry baskets and was furiously throwing them in the trash.  One of them finally asked me, very gently, what I was doing.  I remember saying “Socks five or six months, brothers forever.  The socks gotta go.”  None of them was foolish enough to try to stop me, not even their dad.  They knew I was done.

I did eventually buy them all new socks, but I made them all go without for a week.  They just quietly buy more when they want socks now without fighting, and without discussing it with me.

I still hate socks.

If someone can give me the name of a really warm place to live where socks aren’t a necessity, please let me know.  I would love to live out my fantasy, sock free of course.

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