Sometime over the holidays, I misplaced my winter gloves and needed something to cover my hands when I went outside in near zero degree temperatures. I didn’t want to run back upstairs—again—to grab a pair of gloves from my top dresser drawer, so I dug through the kids’ bag of gloves in the mudroom. Not a single matching pair among them, so this is what I wore.
Single and Lonely
When I was packing for our move to Michigan last summer, I gathered every glove I could find, except for B’s gloves and my gloves—and packed them all together. I also packed a huge tub of socks and labelled it “Single and Lonely.” When the Girl needs socks, she goes to the tub. Without much thought, she grabs two socks. Any two socks. And wears them. Small with large. Blue with orange. Short and sporty with long and polka dotted. Wool boot sock with trouser sock. Fuzzy zebra striped with rainbow toe sock. They usually have one date together. And now there are a bunch of singled socks back in the laundry pool along with several snow-soaked mismatched gloves.
It seems as though mismatched socks must be a herditary thing. Read about Monkey Boy's mismatch adventures HERE.