Diinzumo’s post on the critters attacking her house put me in mind of a horrible situation at the Philangelus house.
We are infested with socks.
Two of the three Kiddos are allergic to socks. Well, socks on their feet. They will occasionally become cats and wear socks on their hands all day, but keeping socks on their feet is akin to keeping a rodeo rider on a bull. In general, socks-without-shoes become bare-feet within fifteen seconds, sometimes in the time it takes between putting on socks and finding sneakers.
It started when they were babies and the socks simply didn’t stay on. Infant socks never do. We would joke about “shameful exposed piggies” and later talk about “decent covered piggies.” I guess the Kiddos have entered a state of rebellion now. Their indecent naked feet pad around the house with no regard for decorum.
Every room in the house will, if you look hard enough, turn up three discarded socks, usually half inside-out. These socks are always white because I don’t feel like pairing colorful socks (and even so, it’s amazing how I can find myself at the end of laundry day with nine unmatched white socks. Why? Because the mates are behind the couches, stuffed in the corners, beneath the bookcases, under the beds, and in the closets.)
The Kiddos will then put on new, different, clean socks when I tell them to put their socks back on because we’re going outside. They claim they “can’t find” their old socks, which I think ridiculous because, well, look around! There are feral socks roaming every room.
Two days ago, I ordered Kiddo#2 to go into every room and hunt for discarded socks. For her, it became a game. Kiddo#2, THE MIGHTY SOCK HUNTER!, collected two armloads.
Clearly I need to call in a professional. Either that or staple the socks to their feet. Until then, the sock infestation continues.