I can’t close my sock drawer. What with all the socks shoved in there and all. And I’m plagued by a burning question. Where did they all come from? 

It’s not like I buy socks every six months or something. Because I don’t. I live in Texas. I wear flip flops and flats. My preferred form of exercise is Bikram yoga. Which is performed barefoot.

So what with all the socks? I did some digging. Aside from the socks on my feet when this picture was taken,* these are all of my socks:

Now, here’s the funny thing about my socks. I don’t actually like colorful, patterned socks. Which means all of the funky socks were given to me as gifts. And the furry socks? They feel nice on my feet, but I slip and slide on the floor. And upping the potential for wiping out and crashing on a hard floor? Not my idea of smart. Plus, I’m kind of a klutz, so even less smart. The odds of me eating the floor are incredibly high.

To get the party started, I sorted all of them into white:

Those that were widowed:

And those funky, colorful, furry deathtraps socks:

Not sure if you counted, but I’ll save you some time. There were TWENTY-SEVEN full pair of socks shoved in that drawer. Not counting the ones without mates. Wha-what? Who needs that many socks? I’ll tell you who. No one.

I remedied the problem. I kept one pair of knee high socks that are thin enough and tall enough to wear with my just-below-the-knee boots. I kept two thin pair of socks I can wear with ankle boots. The rest I will wear with my tennis shoes or around the house in the winter. All of my other shoes do not require socks.

Writing that all out really tells me that I probably have twice as many as I really actually need, but I’ll keep my eyes on it as I wear them in the coming months.

What about you? How many socks do you have?

*I was wearing running shoes that are never, ever worn to run. I don’t run. But they are comfortable. And I wear them predominantly on soccer fields. To watch my kids play.