Socks are great! Something soft, comfortable, warm, and they keep our feet from making our shoes smell so bad, and keep our shoes from rubbing places on our feet. What a wonderful invention! Now this is where things get a little tricky, meet the washer/dryer an even better invention than socks. No more scrubbing on a washboard, ringing out on your hands, and hanging clothes on a clothes line. Technology today has even made this household chore more convenient. No more ringer washers (which I do remember) and clothes pins and lines (which I still use on occasion), so if you have the luxury of owning a washer and dryer, and most do especially in America, or if not there are these businesses called laundry mats that have many of these machines, unless you live in a rural area I guess. Point being laundry is no longer the all day chore that it used to be. The hardest part according to me would be mating socks! See socks and the washer/dryer are wonderful when they are apart, but put them together and they become a thorn in a housewives side. Everyone who has ever done laundry understands what I am talking about here. A load of laundry goes in the washer with presumably all socks having mates, and then into the dryer for a quick tumble, now it is time to fold and mate socks. This is one of my least favorite things to do, mate socks, especially since it seems that all of our socks are completely different. (I have to admit if they are half way similar I mate them). So the pile of socks is slowly getting smaller and smaller, and suddenly there are no more matches, but there are socks left over. How does this happen? Why are there so many lone socks left without a mate? Where could these lone socks be?
There are a few theories to explain this phenomenon:
3. Not all of the socks make it into the washer with their mate. Well wasn’t that a simple answer to explain this problem that all laundry doers face. If only it were that simple, and boring.
2. The most common & obvious culprit in the case of the missing sock – The Dryer did it, in the laundry room.
1. BUT I have another theory, what if the second theory is just what the washer wants you to believe. Walk a mile in the socks, sock if you will. All socks along with mate go into the washer, you choke them with that laundry detergent you insist on pouring on top of them, then the lid closes and everything turns black. What is that sound that, rushing, gushing, sound. Why am I all wet!?! Here comes the water filling the washer tub, and if you have a top loader as do I…it’s a lot of water. So needless to say you are drowning your socks. Hopefully you are using cold water or you are boiling them in the hot, and may even shrink them a size. Oh help them if you are using BLEACH! They are holding their breath in the dark, in this sudsy water then out comes this foul, potent chemical that burns the dirt right off of them. If this isn’t enough torture for a life time the agitator begins to move, back and forth, back and forth. Well we know what an agitator is and its purpose, but to socks how are they to know that this is normal and is getting them clean. This crazy shaped, hard, anchored piece is throwing them to and fro. I’m sure their heads are hurting. Socks have a “toe” end why can’t they have a “head” end. At last a moment of relief, the agitator has stopped, and the water is slowly draining out. They may be thinking, I’m all sudsy but at least I’m not moving and I can breathe. Oh wait this horrible ride is not over, the tub begins to fill again, freezing water, why are we spinning. Faster and faster, round and round they go. Now the socks are completely disoriented and smothered by all the other clothes, the water, and chemicals you have exposed them to. On the other foot they are very clean and fresh, but wait is this terrible experience over? Please say it is over! Mr. & Mrs. Sock begin to discuss what has taken place, this horrible, insane torture they have had to endure for what seemed like forever. Mrs. Sock decides she can not live like this anymore and they must escape. Mr. Sock states that he can not betray his owners. True they walk on me, throw me, step in who knows what with me, the dog likes to chew on me, and I lay in a dark dreary hamper with a lot of smelly dirty clothes piled on top of me, but I am a Sock, my father was a sock, my father was a holey sock, rest his tattered sock soul, and his father before him was a sock, and so on and so on. I belong to my owners; they paid good money for me. I have duties to uphold to cover their feet, keep them warm, and mediate between their feet and shoes. I can not, I will not leave them! Mrs. (insert name) will be so upset! Well Mrs. Sock had stopped listening some were around “dirty clothes”, and jumped on the wild, exciting ride with a few other rebel socks and rode the rinse water all the way out the drain. The water was gone, the machine had stopped, and the lid was lifting exposing the wet, cold wash to the light. Mr. Sock realized his Mrs. Sock was gone, she was gone! He was all alone and he began to weep. No one could tell because he was already wet, so off Mr. Sock went to tumble away in the dryer and dry his tears.
So the next time you get upset because you have a few lone socks without mates, put yourself in the socks, sock. Because let’s be honest there are a lot worse things in the world than non-matching socks.
