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The Sock Monster Is Real.

Normal people worry about important things like mortgage, and responsible people balance their checkbooks. Meanwhile, I’m over here wishing someone would invent a cure for the menstrual cycle (after they find the cure for cancer first of course). I’m a Virgo, so I’m a thinker by constellation. However, I’m also the most stoner non-stoner out of all my friends, so the stuff I think about is random and ridiculous most of the time at times. Below are a few of life’s greatest mysteries coming from someone who just finished 2 bags of baked Cheetos and 1 Kit-Kat, and isn’t even high. 

Matching socks: The sock monster is real. I don’t care who you be, or how old you are. It’s real. Either that, or some homeless man with a funky sock fetish has been stalking and stealing from me for the past 25 years. Matter fact, I’m typing this while wearing one black sock with a pink piggy pattern, and one grey, black, pink, and white argyle sock. At least they’re color coordinated. I don’t know what the fuck sock monsters eat (oh duh, socks), but much like city pigeons they’re getting getting smarter and bolder. I just bought the piggy socks last week and I’m already missing one. If we can find Bin Laden, we should be able to find the sock monster. Amber alert that bitch.

Making the bed in the morning. I do this weird thing when I sleep over a mans house – I make their bed. It usually happens after we’re done having sex, and he goes to the bathroom. As soon as I hear the bathroom door close, all hell breaks loose and I’m rushing to make the bed as neat and fast as possible, so by the time he walks back in, I’m lying on top of it, hair all fixed and clothes back on like I’m Mary Poppins and this shit comes effortlessly. At home though? I could go weeks without making my bed. By the time I decide to do it once I get home from work, it’s like why bother? I’m going to lay right back down in it anyway!

Bobby pins and hair ties. I am almost positive that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on hair ties and bobby pins. They’re definitely in the same family as the sock monster. Have you seen a pack of bobby pins? They come 1,000 a pack. How does someone lose 1,000 bobby pins? 

Leaving shit behind. Literally. Men who don’t want to believe that women take shits, leave now. For the rest of you, I need to know: am I the only one that checks the toilet after I’m done flushing just to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind? Because it sure feels like it sometimes. Ladies especially, LOOK BACK AT IT! It sounds gross, but it’s even worse when the next person comes in and sees the present you left behind. It’s bad enough that you left it smelling like the elephant exhibit at the zoo, but to leave to leave physical proof? You just entered the judgment zone, and will forever be known to me as the chick who forgot to pick her kids up from the pool. Speaking of poop …

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