Socks are evil

I don't like socks. I'm not a big fan of shoes either. Most days (if it's above 70 degrees) you will find me in flip flops. If it's cold, I love my UGGS. Neither require socks. Unless you are my friend Kim, who likes to sport the socks with flip flops look. She can pull it off, I can't. Besides, I can't stand the sock being crammed between my toes. If it were up to me, the only use for socks would be sock monkeys. I make a darn cute sock monkey. You've all seen the one I made for Kimberly, but I made an even cuter one for my friend Maria's daughter's birthday. Of course I forgot to take a picture of it before wrapping it up. Maybe Maria will be so kind as to take a picture so I can share. Life isn't always convienient though, and sometimes it requires safe, closed toed shoes, hence the need for socks in my home. Having to wear socks means having to wash socks and having to wash socks means having to sort socks. Sorting the number of socks a family of 5 wears in a week, 2x5x7=70 freaking socks a week. plus the strays. When it comes time to wash the whites (most of our socks are some form of white) I throw all the socks and panties in a laundry basket to sort later. "Later" being the operative word. I haven't touched that basket, other than to add socks to it, in over a month. The kids come in and dig through it in the mornings to find a pair. Tonight, as yet another load of whites is washing, I told myself I really should sort the socks, but then I decided it would be way more fun to blog about it instead. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow.