Eight-year-old Rachelskirts hated folding socks. She hated helping with laundry in general (or with any chores, for that matter), but sock-folding was one of her least favorite aspects of the job.

Twenty-three-year-old Rachelskirts no longer folds her socks in neat little pairs. No, she throws her socks haphazardly in a drawer, ignoring her obsessive-compulsive tendencies in some rebellious attempt to avenge her childhood. Unfortunately, it took her almost ten minutes to find a matching pair of socks tonight (in the dark, albeit), and she could hear her mother cackling the entire time. "I told you so, I told you so!"

But never fear, my pretties. The war against folding socks (or sock monkeys!) shall continue, even if it means my feet freeze off this winter. I am just that dedicated.