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Today I faced the formidable "Sock Basket". It was a fearsome task, but those of us who are left with the problems that no one else dare attempt discover honor and a special kind of pride in their completion.
The socks that you see in the basket are mine. Those in the great, frightening mound are my husband's. After I finished sorting the worthy from the unworthy, everything fit neatly into that fantastic little white basket. (I just love that it's made to carry on your hip, because you know that's how we women carry things anyway. Somebody somewhere was thinking.) I feel the glow of honest pride that comes from such great achievement.
I would just like to take a little time to address the truly disgusting nature of men's socks. This is true in many different ways. The socks of my own dear father would make even Mike Rowe cringe. I promise you, it's a whole new smell experience. My brother could destroy socks after wearing them only once. When he used to wear my sister's socks, or my own, we would just give them to him, because they were not usable by normal humans.
My husband's do not have a distincive odor, but the actual fibers of the sock seem to soak up some essence of man and die, one by one. There were socks in that pile that were only a shadowy ghost of their former selves, and I felt it was really only humane (sockane) to put them out of their misery. Oh, and another thing. My husband has this habit of folding his dirty socks together before he puts them back in the laundry (or his gym bag). If there's something worse than having to touch a man's dirty socks, it's having to manhandle (womanhandle) them out of a little inverted sweat bundle. It's hardly less disgusting after they've dried, and maintain their state even after unfolding. I've tried asking him to stop, but the man can't remember. Obviously he fails to grasp the true horror of it all.
In other news, my good buddy Tina gave me a great shirt which I've promised to take a picture of myself wearing. I will attempt to do so soon, but I have to wait for a time when I'm wearing make-up and have my hair done. In other words, you'll probably have to wait until Sunday. It really is a great shirt, so tune back in soon.
6 comments:
Not only were our girls separated at birth...our husbands must have been too! Shawn does the exact same thing with his socks, and it drives me crazy!!!
My hubby does the same thing with his socks. Eewwww! And I hate folding his socks, so I usually leave that for him to do. They might sit in the basket until he's totally out of socks, but at least I don't have to touch them!
ewwww! What is it with men and socks?
We have a sock basket too. It's like the monster under the stairs.
About your husband folding his worn socks together so that you have to wrestle them out, don't.
My daughters were in the habit of doing something like this with their socks, so when I washed stuff, I'd just wash them as is. They would wash and dry as a lump. When they complained, I told them that they need to put their socks in there as right side out individual socks, otherwise they would be washed as is.
Any money found is mine, or Lovely Wife's, finders keepers ya know?
When they get items that are in a ball, or inside out and wrinkled, and they complained, I'd patiently tell them that was how they were put in the laundry, why are you complaining if you get them back that way?
It took a while, but for the most part every thing was separated and right side out as they should be.
Maybe if you put all of the little smelly inverted sock bundles, put them in a basket and insisted your husband washed them, things would be different. I don't know for certain, but you could try it. I guess I'm one of the lucky ones, my husband has remarkably nonsweaty feet and hence no icky socks. Go figure.
I have at least 2 sock baskets running at my house. And I have a son who destroys socks with one wearing. I don't know how. It is disgusting. If us girls did not lose half the pair, our socks would last for years. The guys, not so much.
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