How to Become a Millionaire: Match Susan’s Umpteen Socks

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Susan Dromey Heeter photo

You could make a killing matching these socks.


Last week I wrote about being a whistleblower. Today, I muse joyfully about all of those investigations and wonder when the big guns will arrive to investigate me, investigate my home, my habits, my secrets, my paperwork.  Am I on the line?

If so, I’ve got to get my stuff in order. Quick.  I think I have three hundred unmatched socks and it’s getting time to wear them. 

Susan Dromey Heeter, Joyful Musings

Years ago, when I hired a babysitter for my two young daughters, I paid her a dime for each sock she matched. She made five dollars in about ten minutes.  

It’s still horrendous in the unmatched socks department here. Perhaps I could post an advertisement on Craig’s List.  “Help! I need someone who greatly enjoys concentration and organization. I have hundreds of single socks looking for a match.”  

But, wait, maybe it’s not Craigslist I want, perhaps it’s Tinder or  There must be a section for footwear.

I suspect my paperwork will be investigated.  And good luck with that, investigators.

My paperwork system would not fly on an episode of Law and Order – those detectives always seem to open a filing cabinet and find the receipt that implicates the killer within moments of pulling the drawer. My episode of Law and Order would be the entire season; the dialogue might go something like, “Hey, why are there Christmas cards in here from 1993 alongside W2 forms? Nothing makes sense here. Let’s close this case and get Chinese food.”

When the team of investigators look at my kitchen cabinets, well, that’s really when it’ll get nasty. Tahini from 1998? Why? Cherry pie filling? Did she really believe she’d ever make a cherry pie? Or was she going to use the topping for that phantom cheesecake she said she’d make in 2002?”  

My cabinets are filled with ingredients of hope, of potential.  I’ve never made homemade hummus, officers, but I hope to one day.  Really. I promise.  

Oh, forget it. Just lock me away, I give up.  Do I get socks in jail? Will I have to keep paperwork in order? Do I have to cook? Organize cabinets?

I muse joyfully the investigation is over.  I surrender.

And may you, Joyful Musers, bask in your own investigations.  Let me know if you need any expired tahini or a sock or twenty.

Susan Dromey Heeter is a writer from Dover who recently let her hair go au natural white. Writing has been her passion since her English majoring days at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst.  Dromey Heeter has lived in The Netherlands, Alaska and currently basks in all things New England, including the frigid winters. An avid swimmer, Dromey Heeter’s great passion is to bring back body surfing as most children have no idea how to ride waves without ridiculous boogie boards.

The opinions expressed are those of the writer. takes no position on politics, but welcomes diverse opinions.

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