My odd little feet in oddly matching odd socks
Here’s one for the anals of category Apropos of Absolutely Nada. It is very much apparent within these pages that I am no domestic goddess. You don’t have to look far to find me struggling with domesticity, cutting corners with baby wipes and generally peeing on the laminate.
There is yet another way in which I fall down on the home front. I really struggle to get matching socks on to my feet and the feet of the people who rely on me: Mr B and Little B.
No the crime of the century granted, but a little embarrassing nevertheless. And never more so than at play group or baby yoga where we take off our shoes and display our socks for all the world to see.
I am saved from total shame by my friend, who runs the play group, and who also occasionally leaves the house in odd socks. She has comforted me with the wise words of a friend of hers:
“Odd socks are fine, just as long as they are of the same thickness.”
Rarely do you hear such sense being spoken in this world. Don’t you agree?
I am blogging my way through the alphabet this month because the blogging fairies told me to. I would be greatly encouraged by receiving your thoughts on odd socks and anything else in my comments box below. Failing that please nominate Bibsey here for a MADS 2012 blog award. It’s anonymous. Nobody need ever know.
