Why socks deserve a special place in Hell

When I was in college, I took a graduate level class on Dante. Lemme tell ya: Inferno was a whole lot more interesting than Paradiso. Although as far as my eternal destiny is concerned, I'm pretty certain I'll land somewhere in Purgatorio. There's just no way St. Peter is letting me right into Heaven, especially after I write this post.

Anyway, the point is, Dante forgot to make a special place in Hell for socks. And oh, oh how socks deserve Inferno!

Socks, those abominable creatures! They sneak away just when I need them most! Socks, whose absence gives me nightmares! Socks, who stress out my brain more than the FDIC admitting to balance sheet fraud!

This means, of course, that if the federal Government thinks it can cheat its way out of a Recession, there will be Hell to pay. And if the Sock Monster thinks he can eat my socks with impunity? Mark my words, there will be a reckoning.

Except socks deserve a lower circle in Hell because they annoy me every day while the Government only annoys me every other day.

I am responsible for the socks of seven people. Watch these smokin' math skillz: that is FOURTEEN FEET that must be shod with small matching pieces of cotton.

Need I go on?

This sock-induced insanity is enough to make a Christian woman cuss. Like every school morning when, one minute before leaving, the kids are still rooting through the dirty clothes/mismatched sock pile(s).

Here's what I'd like to know: why, WHY haven't disposable socks been invented yet? How is it that we have one-size-fits-all but no single-use-for-all? It's a moral outrage, that's what this is.

But apparently, socks are here to stay. And so are the seven people who must wear them. I'm trying to make my peace with this because ignoring the problem isn't working too well. I made this brilliant deduction after my mother, in her abundant loving- kindness, brought over like the millionth pack of new socks.  

And I was all: hmm...what IS the message here? 

It took me a few tries, but I finally figured it out: either my mother keeps buying new socks for me and my kids or I ACTUALLY SOLVE THIS PROBLEM.

This is how I solve my problems: I whine about it on Twitter. And my kind peeps on Twitter offered tips.

So, here's my new solution (thanks to a Twitter friend): one basket just for mismatched socks. Once a month I'll dump it out and see if enough random socks have landed there in order to make a few matches.

If that doesn't work? Well, I'm going back to ignoring the problem. Because by that time, summer will be here and my #1 rule for summer is: EVERYONE GO BAREFOOT!