Once upon a time, I was a barefoot girl. I didn't wear shoes anywhere but to work and the grocery store, and only then under duress. This despite having had a shard of glass removed from my left foot at age 4. (No lessons learned there.) But somewhere post-40th-birthday, socks found my feet. I even wear them to bed now. Maybe it has something to do with getting older, maybe I have poor circulation, or maybe - just maybe - now that I've shed the inch-thick callouses on my heels, I want to keep my feet soft. Matters not - the point is my feet now usually have socks on them.
But this is not a story about socks. This is a story about plumbing. Plumbing that makes me instantly insane. Plumbing that, if I owned a gun, people would die over. My socks are just the trigger.
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