Currently, my basement resembles a dungeon, and it has nothing to do with the upcoming Halloween season. The stench is awful, and the crumbling grey plaster walls are depressing. Dead bodies would feel right at home here.
The reason for the mess is that I'm in the middle of renovating my basement. And I'm doing the work by myself, partially because I can't afford to hire someone, and partially because I'm pretty darn handy.
After all, I've got more than the U.S. national average of 1.998 hands. (calculated using statistics on this website and assuming a U.S. population of 301,000,000.
Using my hands, I tore down the ceiling in my laundry room and discovered a surprise. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything super awesome like a box of 65-year-old photos, an antique melonballer or a sack of shiney gold looted from some angry-ass Pirates with an average of 1.998 eyes.
It was socks.
The socks were rolled up, sitting on top of a heating duct. They were covered in a thick layer of dark dust. When I unfolded them, they wanted to keep their rolled-up shape.
The socks were thin. The material was 100% synthetic. They were not enjoyable the way a melonballer would be. After giving some thought to the mystery socks - wondering how they got up there, who put them there, and how old they were - I threw them out.