I love you, socks.
You keep us warm.
You make us laugh with your catchy designs and colors.
I can go to work in professional attire and still have a little bit of silly with me.
Socks can be fuzzy,
Or separate your toes.
Socks can be hidden inside your shoes,
Or be shown off all the way up to your knees.
You can celebrate your favorite holidays!
You can make a statement with your feet.
(But still keep your feet covered, because unless you're a baby, no one really wants to see your feet!)
You keep our shoes from becoming disgusting.
But, socks, you and laundry have got to figure out this game!
All of the searching through drawers
And digging through baskets.
Why can't the pair of you ever stick together and hop in the same load of laundry?
Why do some of you disappear completely,
Only to reappear two weeks after I finally give in and throw your mate in the trash?
Why do I forget that even though it is fun to have matching socks for my kids,
It is not fun to try and find the barely discernible difference in two differently sized socks?
If I only ever wear you as a pair, why does one of you get a hole before the other?
But I can't really darn it,
Because then you feel lumpy on my foot
And that's not cool.
I love you.
(But I also kinda hate you a little bit too.)