It has been said (by google) that only 1.9% of the world’s population are twins. In my family, there are two sets. My mother has a twin brother, (who by the way barely looks or acts like her) and my sister has a twin boy and girl. (I call them neice and nephew, but you can call them whatever, as long as it is nice.) Some twins (especially identical) spend their whole lives together and never seperate. They go to the same college, have the same career and even marry other identical twins. But most, eventually do other things and go their seperate ways. Socks are the Mary Kate and Ashley of the clothing world. Here’s a list of things they do that make me bitter:
Socks are always getting lost. I’ve given them directions over and over again, even purchased them a GPS in order to get around, but no matter how hard I try, socks somehow get lost. Sometimes one of them wants to stop at the gas station to ask for directions, but the other is too stubborn and thinks they have a natural sense of direction. Other times they fight too much, or have different opinions on politics or they have fight about how much money should be saved (inside themselves.)
Socks are divas. I don’t get my own room, but my socks get their own drawer. And their own basket. And the athletic socks get a separate drawer from dressy socks. Next thing you know they are going to want a celebrity rider for their dressing room when they do their sock puppet show. Just so you know socks, only kids like puppet shows and they barely like them.
Socks are lazy and spoiled. They only work about once every 3 weeks and on that day, they only work for about 8 hours. Then, as soon as they get home from work, they get tossed in the bedroom where they can play all they want. Then they get to have a party inside a washing machine where they get clean again and don’t have to work again for another three weeks.
Socks don’t listen. I have the kind of feet that has toes that angle downward from the big toe down to the pinky toe. My socks like to stay straight just to annoy me. They like to bully my toes into bunching up. My toes then shoot bitterness up to my brain. My brain then tells my hands to pull my socks off, but my hands say no because they are busy working.
Socks like to absorb water. They know that once they get wet they are going to stay wet and they are just going to annoy me so much that I will want to take them off, thus making their one day of work even shorter.
Just like the twins who are so close that they finish each others sentences, socks make me so bitter.
Arrrrrgggyyyylllll (this is update is brought to you courtesy of the blog, St. Sahm)