The Sock Bandit's crime spree.

It's that time of year when I begin my spring cleaning. I like to start early since it takes me a couple of months to meticulously rumage through my "has" and "has beens". It's not like I have a wordrobe of personal possesions that rivals Paris Hiltons' emmense closets. I just like to take the time and give in to my primitive habit of procrastination ( not as damaging when cleaning my closet). First, I began with the relocation my books (stacked in front of my bed underneath my televison table) onto my shelf within the closet. What's next? Like a chess game, I methodically plan my next great move. I try to visualize two, three, or even five moves ahead. I mentally disseminate. Okay, (I tell myself) I could start with the clothes folded nicley which layed (by my lovely wife I might add) upon the floor, and place them inside my portable plastic drawers. Or, (I pondered) I could hang my cream colored sweater that my sweet grandmother-in-law bought me last Christmas. I decided to honor my new blood, and hang the soft sweater. I'm making progress I tell myself. A quick scan of my closet, still a mess. Then it accours to me. My plastic drawers look like their vomiting fabric. I try to refold my unorganized heap and notice this wasn't a plausible solution. The problem, too much cloth not enough drawer realty. Now I know what must be done, purge the unused and unwanted. I start with my sock drawer. One by one I go through each sock, wait a minute?! Why are the majority of my socks suddenly single and ready to mingle? Long socks matched with short stubby ankle socks, and stubby ankle socks matched with thick winter socks. An infidelitous orgy of feet warmers caressing each other in blissful awkwardness. I wonder how such an magical conspiracy managed to manifest right beneath my nose (literally). Only one thing to blame...that Fucking Sock Bandit!