The sock situation has reached critical. I washed every sock in the house. There are fifteen matches and one hundred billion socks sitting in a pile, basically the apparel equivalent of abandoned by their spouses.
Strangely, it was the white ones.
We have a matched blue set that I bought around the time my son was born. We have, and this just scares me, my cheerleader socks, circa 1991. I ran across an inordinate number of trouser socks that I have never seen before in my life. I found, amongst other useless treasures, my APO frat pin, a set of keys that go to nothing that resembles a lock, and my basketball shoes from late 1992. They still fit. This was kind of a bright spot in the day, and really, that should tell you something.
More imponderables. And is that a word, or does it need an 'n'?
1.) Some sadist left my niece's talking doll beneath a pile of laundry. Every time you step, a spooky baby voice says it's hungry. Just *imagine* the ways that freaks you out around nine at night. And ask me how long it took to find out that it was a doll.
I'm telling you, X-Files fucked me up for life. I no longer automatically think, what is a reasonable explanation? I immediately think, that is a flesh eating monster that is going to kill me and eat me. Come on, remmeber that freaksome doll episode?
2.) There is some strange law that states, all my hose will have runs. All of them. Even ones I've never worn. Even ones that I don't own, that appear by magic beneath my hands when searching out those deserting whores of socks. And no matter how many are thrown away, there will always be a million of them. It's almost a reverse of the sock issue, which makes me suspicious that socks actually have some kind of life cycle that leads to runned hose. Maybe they eventually mature into unrun hose or something, but I'm not waiting to find out whether or not my laundry is sentient. They could mature into something that will kill me in my sleep, like, say, that talking doll, and who the *hell* thought this was a good idea to invent?
The sad part is, I bought that one for her. Like I didn't learn all I needed to know from television about evil toys. Grrrr. Stupid impulse buying.
3.) Thou shall never find matching sheets. This is a given. I've pretty much reconciled myself to a life with sheets that will never match. And never in complementary colors. Oh no, not my bed. We're talking flowery and neon green geometrics. This could explain why my bed sees so little action. Frankly, if I saw that in someone's house, I'd question their sanity and more importantly, their good taste and ability to color coordinate. I mean, you can live with insanity, just lock up the sharp objects and sleep lightly and armed. But there's no hope when their color sense is working against you.
4.) Underwear. I have no idea where it's coming from. His, not mine. It's a weird breeding thing with cotton and spandex going on somewhere, because I didn't buy that many, but we have two drawers full and I'm still stumbling over it when I go through laundry. It's frightening. I mean, convenient, but dear God.
I watched my niece today, one of those times that reminds me why I have kept a tubal ligation on the table as a possibility should ever a situation arise in my life that might lead to further progeny.
Because Children Are Strange and Evil, and Then There Were Breathing Masks
My sister and her husband have, like any healthy couple, some light porn around, locked up from small, terrifying little eyes that *ask questions*. No biggie. I am content to pretend that I have no idea, because she's my sister and it's creepy just to think about. Fair enough. But their last cleaning spree left Certain Magazines out where Small Children could pry.
Okay, that's kind of unfair. It took a lot of to crawl under the bed, pull out an ungodly number of forgotten t-shirts and what have you to get to it, but my niece, two and two/thirds, emerged with something vaguely uncategorical involving leather and spandex and breathing masks. You know, things I *write* about. Except for that breathing mask thing wiht a full cast--I have no clue what was going on with that.
And. Other Things.
It took a second for me to realize what she was holding so gleefully--in my own defense, it was upside down (oh, I hope that was upside down, becaues man, otherwise? OUCH) and it was brightly colored, like one of her magazines, and--yeah. Like I was supposed to know they kept the porn under the bed.
"What's that?" my son asks brightly, at which time he pulls it from Niece's hands and turns it around to look. I have never moved so fast in my life, and he still got one blink in before I'd skidded over the carpet and, rather like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, got it from his hands in a gravity defying slide that hurt like hell, by the way.
I tossed it in the upper reaches of the closet and dived for Finding Nemo, and though kind of confused, no one mentioned a thing. Children have short memories and look! Talking fish! Let us laugh. Ha ha ha! That Nemo, man.
I'm the worst babysitter on earth.
It gets better though.
"Do girls like that?" Child asks, hours later. I have this half-hope that he's talking about Kim Possible, but no. Anime eyes and all, he smiles up at me with angelic innocence. I feel dirty just thinking about it.
"Those things." He waves his hand vaguely in no direction towards the tv. Shit. "She had something--"
"No, the book."
I won't go into the rest of the conversation. I don't *remember* a lot of it, frankly, and I like it that way. We had a chat about things that people do, in vague terms, and people like different things, and we don't judge when that happens, and at his age, it's not something that would be interesting anyway, and I had this strange feeling that I wasn't doing so great with the afterschool special thing, but that I sounded really pretentious, so I was getting better at it. On the other hand, he was content and then he wanted to know if we could take out the slip and slide thing tomorrow and I was like, sure thing. He's not acting like I ruined his future sexual health for life or anything. So breathing.
And okay, here's the secondary issue. Did I *need* to know what on earth Sister and Husband get up to? Seriously here, theoretical, one thing, but.
A *full body cast and breathing mask*? What. The. Hell. Are. They. Reading?
And NO, I'm not going to go look to find out. Just. No.
Oh God, I want to lay down again.
I should drown my sorrows in chocolate or something. Or porn. *shudders* Maybe not.