Well, it was just in the nick of time.
This here is photographic evidence that I lie not on this blog. When I say my thirteen-year-old son plays basketball outside in the snow in his socks, I mean it.
Before thanksgiving I would have simply screamed DARNIT at these socks, but now, thanks to my MIL, I know I need a needle and thread, and thanks to the Old Boat Guy I know I need a lightbulb to get these darn socks darned.
Why would I need a lightbulb, you ask? I wondered that too. Apparently you put the lightbulb inside the sock. Most likely so you can see what you're darning.
Which reminds me of a joke.
How many Mormons does it take to darn a sock to helk?
Four. One to screw in the lightbulb, one to say the closing prayer, and one to bring refreshments.
The last Mormon is just there to say "the devil made me do it."
Ba dum bum.
Hey, btw, April says you can't shout your stains out by yelling at your laundry. Can anyone confirm this to be true?
If I might add, you shouldn't deck your halls either. Unless you want your walls to call social services on you.
Anyways, back to my son's holy war. This is not the first time his feet have worn out their welcome on the basketball court.
Poor thing. I guess I need to teach him the hypocritic oath because what's the use of having holy socks when your shoes have no soul?
(ba dum bum)