More Reasons I Know better than Dr. Mom

So, I say screw Dr. Mom with her fancy advice and gentle suggestions. What does she know? I can't explain often enough, how much I know. Geez. When I was pregnant, my Mom, having lived with me for 18+ years remembered that I may, occasionally lose things. Like my car keys. And it would never fail that I would realize I had lost said car keys 3 minutes prior to me having to be at work. This would result in me yelling the entire house down around me, demanding that every able body person jump up and begin helping me search for my keys. If you have lived with me, you may have fallen victim to this behavior once or twice. Chris may have suffered this fate more than once. And those who have lived with me (roommates included) may know that if you do not jump up that very second I mention that I am looking for my keys, I may go out of my mind crazy on you. Not sorta mean, could you help me look for my keys? I'm talking, I am going to light you on fire as soon as I find the lighter. So, being that my Mom remembered this very endearing quality in me (despite me swearing that I have outgrown such childish tantrums) she thought I may have issues with such teeny tiny items that babies come with. For example, booties. Baby socks are so freakin tiny. It's ridiculous. Why can she wear normal socks? In this house, Chris has been known to sport my Justice logo socks, from the little girls store I worked for. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And why must every outfit have matching socks? Is it that big of a deal? So, thoughtful Grandma purchased me those handy mesh laundry bags to put them in. She sent me several of them. About 10. I think she thought I would misplace them. She advised me to put one on every level of the house and put the baby's socks in there every time I took them off. And it started out that way. I had one clipped to the hamper, so no wayward socks would scurry to the bottom, to mix in with her laundry. One in her playpen for daytime changes. One in the living room, from where I would find socks after Chris and the baby play. Then the one in the hamper never made it back to it's home. I'm not even sure about the downstairs ones. I would wash socks in them and the basement would eat the bag. I'm not sure what went wrong.
The moral to this long, boring story:
I now own ONE laundry mesh bags. However, I do own 19 socks that have no matches. The one laundry bag is currently holding the 19 single socks, waiting patiently for me to find their matches. But as I mentioned, I'm sure I know more than Dr. Mom......