Neither home nor desperate I would say, rather, the desperate housewives: I listlessly juggles between 'pierced-palette "and" pre-packaged dinners, philosophizing about the iron face bravely the folds of a shirt more or less how one should deal with, prenden 
doli peak, or on the lapels of life because, eventually, to spread the socks are always strictly odd and feet, until proven otherwise, that is. Looking around, with a clothespin between his teeth and a "survivor" dark blue in her hands, I counted and recounted, all proud and well aligned even hanging by a thread and hanging in the air, from right to left or left to right , also 12, no ambush bowl, so no more sheltered in the washing machine, like the 12 apostles, the sons of Aeolus, ready to dry their tears with a puff to remove traces of detergent and stinking sins. And you? Who are you that I still seem to shake, cold shower for rinsing, my hands chapped? You who you are a follower, put blue socks? Where is your soul mate? And here in a sunny August morning came, the result of a very twisted mind, the theory of "odd sock." Some people not to take risks and facilitate the 'coupling, the couple together in a tight knot that, once the wash cycle, it is really a' company resolved: the socks are bound 'to a' no other possibility entertainment, a centrifuge head spin or make a pre effervescent, nothing routine, blue with blue, black to black. Who even has the time and the patience to customize it with a dot of colored thread in the hope that a 'wave "overwhelming" is not able to shell out that sign of recognition. There are also those who, a bit 'like me, rely on characteristics of "genetic" the weft yarn, or its thickness, strength ol 'height of' elastic, any trademarks worn but still legible. When all attempts to reveal compartments reunification, nothing else to do than to classify the poor victim as "abandoned" and sadly put it in that 'special little purse card that hosts the heroic socks "single." They are clean, fragrant, beautiful 'look and we look forward to the return or the partner or to find someone' who do not mind you too much of their length or their integrity, to 'exact match, do not feel at all "waste" of a company so well aligned along the threads of linen but free souls that once in a washing machine, were assigned to the eddies of what, to 'appearance, looked like just a carousel ride. Every now and then peep and count them, and increase it, to be honest, I worry a bit '. Possible that the 'effect of' softening unable to moderate the claims and to make the meetings more simple? Possible to find that after being lost for so long we should stay in a dark paper bag?
doli peak, or on the lapels of life because, eventually, to spread the socks are always strictly odd and feet, until proven otherwise, that is. Looking around, with a clothespin between his teeth and a "survivor" dark blue in her hands, I counted and recounted, all proud and well aligned even hanging by a thread and hanging in the air, from right to left or left to right , also 12, no ambush bowl, so no more sheltered in the washing machine, like the 12 apostles, the sons of Aeolus, ready to dry their tears with a puff to remove traces of detergent and stinking sins. And you? Who are you that I still seem to shake, cold shower for rinsing, my hands chapped? You who you are a follower, put blue socks? Where is your soul mate? And here in a sunny August morning came, the result of a very twisted mind, the theory of "odd sock." Some people not to take risks and facilitate the 'coupling, the couple together in a tight knot that, once the wash cycle, it is really a' company resolved: the socks are bound 'to a' no other possibility entertainment, a centrifuge head spin or make a pre effervescent, nothing routine, blue with blue, black to black. Who even has the time and the patience to customize it with a dot of colored thread in the hope that a 'wave "overwhelming" is not able to shell out that sign of recognition. There are also those who, a bit 'like me, rely on characteristics of "genetic" the weft yarn, or its thickness, strength ol 'height of' elastic, any trademarks worn but still legible. When all attempts to reveal compartments reunification, nothing else to do than to classify the poor victim as "abandoned" and sadly put it in that 'special little purse card that hosts the heroic socks "single." They are clean, fragrant, beautiful 'look and we look forward to the return or the partner or to find someone' who do not mind you too much of their length or their integrity, to 'exact match, do not feel at all "waste" of a company so well aligned along the threads of linen but free souls that once in a washing machine, were assigned to the eddies of what, to 'appearance, looked like just a carousel ride. Every now and then peep and count them, and increase it, to be honest, I worry a bit '. Possible that the 'effect of' softening unable to moderate the claims and to make the meetings more simple? Possible to find that after being lost for so long we should stay in a dark paper bag? The long search for the least demanding to below the knee, the 'insecure by the' robust and resilient than crumple at the first meeting, the stickler of the same color point, the athlete only sponge, masochistic melancholy better laundry ...
Moral of the story-theory: unfortunately the bag is full even if a couple is walking better.
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