Socks

Yesterday evening as I was picking up, I saw another one of those dirty, bunched up little socks. Why are there so many of those SINGLE socks? Then I remembered a moment that occurred just a couple of hours before. Hiram had just pushed the flusher on the toilet. Charlotte was rushing over to toss one of those single socks in the toilet bowl. I saw it happening, and rushed to shut the lid. Somehow those little, faster than lightening hands beat the lid. In went the sock, swirling-twirling. I shot my hand into the bowl, and rescued that sock (and probably a clogged toilet). This scene flashed through my mind and suddenly I realized that keeping up with six, little, speedy hands is a lot of work. How do you deal with your single socks? I'm going to pick up each one of those single socks and express gratitude for six hands who move the socks, and six feet who wear them (after I grumble).