The Whereabouts of Socks

Yesterday I did some laundry. I don’t usually pay attention to washing instructions, so I only did one load in warm water. My opinion is that if I can’t wash it in warm water with everything else (barring the first washing), I shouldn’t own it anyway. There are a few notable exceptions: suits, straw hats, and my ceremonial Nova Scotian garb for New Year’s celebrations. But apart from these, all clothing is subject to my warm water regulation.

Thus, yesterday I loaded all my dirty clothes into the washing machine for a pleasantly warm dousing, and I specifically noted that I had included three khaki colored socks, of slightly varying décor, but all purchased in the same package from Kohls. “Three?” you may ask. I will get to that infuriating detail momentarily, but I want first to tell you of other infuriating incidents first to adequately whet your rage.

I was just minding my business, doing my husbandly duty of contributing to domestic cleanliness, when what should arise but my socks decide to go on strike. I had already put them into the machine, but they were clogging the agitator with their foul limbs. They simply refused to be washed. In reality I knew they were plotting much worse than a mere wash-strike. I told them that we were not in France, so striking was strictly stricken from their options. At this they took off, as I had anticipated was their goal.

Once out the laundry room door, they split up, making it much more difficult for me to gather them in for punishment. One went for the door, another into the kitchen, and the third toward the living room. I chased the one heading for the door, lest he should escape permanently, and managed to beat him down with a strategically placed broom that I keep in the entryway for such urgent events. War-weary and tied into a knot to prevent further escapades, I restored sock number one to the laundry.

The other two managed to evade me, taking advantage of my struggle with the first sock to hide themselves appropriately. That is how I managed to start with three socks in the laundry and only take one sock out of the dryer.

So can you guess why I started with three socks in the first place? Yep – a previous battle.

Sometimes the socks are more covert, preferring surreptitious escapes to open strikes. This is probably what occurs more often in your household. My socks are much more rebellious than most, probably because I did not discipline them enough in their childhood. The more conscientious (and clever) socks will take off somewhere between the time you close the lid to your laundry machine and the time you remove the clothes from your dryer. They know our human kind too well. It is all a part of the plan for their humans to say, “Oh I must have dropped one of my socks when I was changing at the gym” or “Bobby, did you take your brother’s socks again?” They want us to blame ourselves, or worse, blame each other. The more enmity there is in a house, the more likely the malevolent footwear will have a chance to fly the coop. Reputable sources tell me that certain recent wars in central Asia revolved around supposedly “stolen” socks.

The evil footies are not always able to escape the household entirely, though. That is why we are prone to find them in the most surprising places: packed into a DVD case in a drawer, hanging from a screw behind the garbage disposal under the sink, immersed in water in the toilet tank, stuffed inside the hollow of a doorknob, nailed to the bottom of the kitchen table, covering Auntie May’s face on page 312 of the family photo album, or, strangest of all, sitting unnoticed in the back of the sock drawer under all those green socks that you never wear.

I recently took an inventory of my socks to see if I needed to hire some guards and build a watchtower. I had 7 unmatched white socks with low heels, 3 sans-partner white socks with higher heels, 5 singular khakis, 19 pair-less blues, and a lonely polka-dotted sock with Mickey Mouse on it. I have never owned Mickey Mouse socks! It’s beginning to make me wonder if there is more to the sock mystery than I previously thought.

But while they anger and confuse me, socks are dear friends of mine. They kept me warm in England; they provided unending ammo for childhood wars when snowballs were not available; and they keep me on my toes….hehe.

Really, though, they help prevent gangrene and are known to have curing effects on all sorts of maladies including, but not limited to, strep throat, ear infections, hair loss, arthritis, overgrown left elbows, and that creeping feeling of ants being all over you. Plus, whenever you find a sock that has hidden itself away in some unexpected place, you get to shout, “Hey honey! I found that chartreuse sock that I have missed so much for the last thirteen years! Let’s go to that really expensive steak restaurant that I love so much tonight in celebration.” And do you honestly think she is going to turn you down on that? I think not.

This of course explains that well-known phrase: “Steaks abound when socks are found.”

For this very reason, I must now go and find a long-lost sock. Wish me luck!