The Great Sock Standoff

Hubby unearthed all sorts of treasures this week as he started cleaning out his closet, but one of the most memorable discoveries was a basket of his mismatched socks circa 2003.


See, I really really hate sorting socks. When folding laundry, I always leave the socks till last.

I also left the socks till last when I began domesticating my future hubby's bachelor pad, where I discovered a room full of unfolded and partially petrified laundry. (To his credit, at least it was clean.)

I began laying out his socks in the living room. Black socks, white socks, tan socks, brown socks, dark gray socks, light gray socks. Short socks, long socks, medium socks.

I don't think hubby ever bought the same brand and color of socks twice. Nor had he ever thrown away a single sock missing its mate.

Seeing as I hate to sort socks in the first place, I soon got tired of this. I put the pile of socks in a basket in his closet.

Instead of sorting the socks himself, he goes out and buys new socks. But the old socks still sit in the closet. Months pass. The old socks still sit in his closet. We move. The old socks still sit in his new closet. Four years pass. The old socks are rediscovered in his closet.

Will hubby convert them to rags? Will I break down and match a few pairs? I think there's a better chance that our home be invaded by an army of sock puppets!