So, anyway, before I go to bed I put on a pair of fuzzy socks made from some miracle polyester that looks like the pelt of a Winnie the Pooh created expressly for babies. With my Pooh pelts placed thusly upon mine feet I am then ready for bed and about 12 hours of uninterrupted dreams where people like Brett Erlich or Patrick Cassels are my boyfriend. 12 hours because I am between jobs at the time (read: PLEASE HIRE ME!) and the aforementioned guys (because I'm in the inbetween age where I'm not yet comfortable calling my crushes "men") because I'm such a nerd that even in my dreams I fantasize about guys from non pornographic viral videos. After my 12 hours of coma I awake, to find that I am only wearing one sock. One. Sock.
As if my dreams were so intense that they could knock a sock off.
So every morning I wake up and walk around my house with one sock on. Like John Bender when he jumps out of his shoe while playing basketball in Breakfast Club. I'm thinking about going out for a scholarship.