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Just like starting over.

I am firm in my belief in the slipper. This is how my own socks (and feet) keep tidy but everyone doesn't take the same care. A house slipper which finds it's way outside the house via the lazy foot that couldn't be bothered renders the term "house slipper" meaningless, necessitating a run through the laundry. It's cause for an automatic Startover. But I may never convince my people of this.

And they steal my socks.

I have taken to purchasing more outlandishly feminine socks in order to deter my teenaged sons from committing further crimes. For all the good that does.

Lovin' Man utilizes mismatched socks for comedy bits. He prefers stripes mostly but the occasional pattern finds it's way into his act. He keeps them tidy but, somehow, his black socks are sacred. If they have at any point in time donned the foot of another, his sock situation becomes intolerable and he's off to the discounted department store for a fresh batch, automatically starting over.

Recently, I flat out threw away a bag of matchless socks having failed to repurpose them. They mock me with their foreign ways, solitary and dingy. There are socks which have lurked for years in a grocery bag by my dryer. As if their mate will ever return for them. As if they can ever salvage their usefulness.

As if there's such a thing as an automatic Startover.


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