The Queen of the Socks

Ah, yes! If socks were dollars, I would be wading in cash. Instead, I am knee deep in multi-coloured tootsie tubes. I’m afraid to emerge ... I know there is more, hiding, upstairs.

Little pixie socks for the toddler set,
action socks for the crime fighter,
princess socks, serious socks,
and glamourous socks for me.
You know the ones I’m talking about.
Cotton, with a delicate band of colour at the ankle?
Yes, glamour is my middle name.

I admit it. The laundry has slowly snuck up on me. Last week, while I was putting away the ‘last’ of the folded laundry I glanced at the basket in my kids room and considered putting a load on.

“No,” I thought, “not today. Today I’m taking a break from laundry.” and ‘poof’ the laundry pile multiplied, like happy bunnies on a beautiful spring day.

Now, my pile of laundry is so high that I predict I will be at the washing machine for the next twenty years. If you happen to be available for any one of my children’s graduations please let me know, if I have time I’ll send you my seat. Or perhaps I could send a clean sock to sit in my chair ... by then it should be technologically advanced enough to take pictures.

I have a dream. It’s a simple dream. Each member of the family would own two sets of stylish yet inexpensive clothes. At the end of each day they would fold the clothes lovingly and place them on a modern display shelf, next to one of those space age egg chairs. And a star burst clock. Oh, and a painting by Miro. On Wednesdays the whole family would line up with clothing set number one. They would place it in the laundry. There would be no need for baskets or separating, I would just turn the machine on and watch it go. Ah, bliss.

Now there are some of you out there who are saying, “This is crazy! Her scheme would never work.”

Ah, my gentle readers, how short sighted. A pipe dream? I think not. I having been testing my theory for a few weeks now. The girls have worn the same outfit for several days, just so I can tell them apart. All that remains is to weed out everyone else’s wardrobe. Now, if I can only figure out how to get my son to part with his Batman lounge suit.

For now, though, I think I will crouch down in the pile and get started. Perhaps I’ll place some underwear on my head as a tiara, wave my bottle of Tide and announce in my most regal voice, “the washer is free! Send in the socks!”