I cleaned out my sock drawer over the weekend.
I am totally into the high life here.
9 black socks, six had holes in the heels or toes.
2 pairs of almost new striped socks that are itchy inside.
11 white socks...and I use the term 'white' very loosely.
1 pair of Ohio State socks with holes in the toe AND the heel. I've been holding onto them for about 15 years now for 'sentimental' reasons.
1 pair of Boise State socks because Mr. Jenny feels that if you're going to wear football socks they should be from BSU!
3 brown socks.
7 pairs of assorted holiday socks...who doesn't need socks with spiders, reindeers and/or Easter bunnies on them.
2 pairs of panty hose stuffed wayyyyy in the back all mangled and inside out. It appears the last attempt at trying them on went slightly awry.
1 belt. I have no idea whose belt this is. I haven't had a waist since 1981.
1 bobby pin.
and a book of matches...
...perhaps so if I lose electricity I can still locate 1 of the 9 black socks without a hole in them.
The disturbing news is that...
I'm really truly writing about it.
And I'm not even a tiny bit sorry.