12 feet. Not of snow. But actual human feet (16 if you count Gracie's but she doesn't wear socks). 12 eyeballs, 12 hands, over a hundred teeth. That's how many various human body parts we have in this house. 12 feet makes for a lot, a lot, a lot of socks. They sort of sift themselves to the bottom of the laundry pile. Slowly but surely, they weave their way so that they come to a safe rest on the floor. Then, when I scoop up the laundry, they don't get scooped up with it. They remain there on the floor. This leads to a lot, a lot, a lot of single socks. I, for one, don't have a huge problem with it. I give the single sock to its owner, knowing that eventually their other half will make it through. Husband was getting sick of it. So he washed an entire, gigantically oversized load of socks this weekend, and found their match. He's like a modern-day hero.