A couple, two of a kind, shoes, socks or scissors. A yellowish-green fruit with a big bottom. And the act of peeling that fruit with a knife.

I'm trod upon daily, yet you barely pay me heed. But, I think your feet will admit, I really am a need. Whether high up in the sky or just above the ground, be sure to sweep, mop, and keep me clean, as is the janitors creed.

There can be many colors on my head, Make it a swirl, frosting or with sprinkles instead, I'm always dressed to celebrate, Though I won't be around for long to wait, Peel my little jacket free, Then take a bite and savor me.

I show roads, cities, and places, but I am not the world. What am I?

I live in pairs but lose my twin, A lonely life I often spin. In drawers I hide, in shoes I stay, I travel miles but never stray. I hug your foot from heel to toe, Through heat or cold, through fast or slow. I catch the sweat, I fight the chill, A silent helper, calm and still. In washing drums I twist and turn, Yet one goes missing, a lesson to learn. A mystery tale in every home, Where vanished partners love to roam. I come in stripes, in dots, in plain, In fluffy warmth or sporty strain. Pulled on quick at break of day, Then kicked off tired and tossed away. No voice have I, no eyes to see, Yet life feels better because of me. So tell me now, be quick, be slick, What am I, soft and snug and quick?