Socks can die in a fire.

All of them. I have nothing but hate. While doing the laundry today I found my other Ravenclaw sock, soft and happy from a trip through the washer and dryer. With a HUGE hole in it. Guess who didn't weave the end in quite right? Oh yes. I had to get out the scissors. At some later, more sane point in time, I will pick up the stitches and carry on with the extra yarn I have. Or I might just set them on fire.

Seriously, the only thing that could inspire more sock hate this weekend would be if one of my dogs ate my Lantern Moon DPNs.

I should have known it wasn't going to go well. I was stalking the mailbox for my SITM pal box and instead got our foundation papers. Sure enough, the part of our foundation that is settling isn't covered. So, before we ever sell our house, I'll have to come up with thousands of dollars to have the back half of the house piered. Fortunately, that's a long way off.

I'm grumpy. And that, folks, is why we don't keep liquor in the house. Or chocolate. That's also why I'm never doing laundry again. You never know when you might find a mangled Ravenclaw sock in the wash.