I'm SICK of socks!

Can I just tell you that the boys are making large inroads in the "Great Sock Battle of 2007"?! They are wearing me down, molecule by molecule. Here's the deal:
I no longer find socks lying around the house. In fact, I've only made $4 on the whole thing so far. I know what you're thinking:
"So what's the problem? Sheesh, she sure does complain a lot. Evidently her plan has worked because they're not leaving their socks lying around. There is NO pleasing some people!"
Well STOP thinking that!! Here's the rest of the deal:
They're not leaving them lying around anymore because they're not taking them off of their feet! Which, I know, sounds like a great battle victory. Until you happen to wander by the kitchen window and see them outside playing football in their socks! Or playing with the dogs, in the mud, in their socks! Or washing a car in their socks. Or running down the street in their socks. Do you get the picture? The dirty, blackened, mud-caked picture?!
So you see, they win. They stop leaving them around, thus making it LOOK like I won, when really, they're totally laughing their buns off at how crazy they're making me!!
Would you like an example of me, being crazy?
Late this afternoon I was fixing dinner and looked out the window to see son #2 talking on his cell phone, walking up and down the street in his socks. (an aside: for some reason our house is the black hole of cell phone reception so we have to go outside to use them effectively). I knock on the window, loudly, to get his attention. He looks towards me and I, once again, use the hand language moms instinctively know to say, "Take your socks off." Kids instinctively know this language, too -- they just pretend not to (another aside: I think that is a total and much-used male cop out, but that's for another blog on another day).
He just squinted and shrugged and walked in some dirt. I tried this about three times before I ran to the door, threw it open and yelled, "STOP WALKING AROUND IN YOUR SOCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I'm sure every neighbor on the street, as well as his little girlfriend on the other end of the cell call, heard that heart-felt, from the diaphragm-booming yell.
And did I care, as I watched him quickly rip the socks from his feet? Nope. I'm secure in the knowledge that, up and down our street, many other women were nodding their heads in agreement and support.
That, and the knowledge that they probably already think I'm crazy anyway.