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Smokin' socks

This is the last time any one will see these.  It breaks my heart!  They've been a part of our family, covered 40 of the most precious toes, and lived in the depths of my war-torn laundry basket.   Ha-Ha!  So Long Socks!

Am I truly sorry to see you go? NO! I've been carting you around trying to find your match for months-with no success.  Somewhere in the deep dark depths of the washing machine world there is a void.  A large deep, soft and fluffy void of socks.  I don't know where this 'sock void world' is or how so many of my family's socks end up there, but apparently it's a great place for socks to go for a permanent vacation and most likely find their one true match.  While they do this they leave us mom-type-folks hanging onto threads, literally holding their knitted together existence in our hands ravenously trying to find their match.  So, so very unfair! 

My remedy for this came when I was pregnant with our fourth child (horomones run amok), and it's proved extremely therapeutic. Campfire anyone?  Preferably in our wood burning stove! Bwa-ha-ha! Did you get the hint of sinister laugh!

Throw them all in the the wood burning stove, grab your favorite fire starter, and have yourself some smokin' socks.  They go out in a blaze of glory! Thank you socks-be gone, be ash, be out of my laundry basket.  This simple act of fire is extremely freeing.  No more digging through the trash (when you do finally throw the mismatch in there) anticipating the next laundry load in the dryer will have it's match, thinking you could knot them together for another dog toy or making yet one more dust rag.  I mean really...that's why we have cats for our dogs and who needs one more dust rag?  Not I.

So long smokon' socks!  Off to the softer sock place in the sock world sky.

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