One of the many pleasures of crisp fall weather is the return of socks. I love fuzzy, funny socks. Socks are like a secret joke that make your toes giggle. Happy toes make me feel relaxed and mellow. Socks are a good thing. After months of neglect, today the socks came out to entertain my feet. All day, I slid on the wood floors like a child. As my brain started getting fuzzy and I lost the motivation to do anything but my imitation of a sloth, I fixed a drink, loaded my arms with clean clothes that needed to go to our bedroom closet and began the trek downstairs.
I made one step onto the stairs before I remembered that sock feet on our steps are extra slippery. When they are MY uncoordinated, klutzy sock feet on stairs, there is guaranteed hilarity. I fall down the stairs about once a year. Usually, it only hurts my pride. This time I was holding a red drink. The noise from my big fanny falling down the stairs would make enough noise to wake everyone. I think the site of me crumpled at the foot of the stairs with red liquid splashed everywhere would be slightly upsetting to a few of the children. Despite the huge laugh it would give Doug, I walked down the stairs more carefully than any other human has ever stepped. My next pratfall will have to come when the children are all at school.