We’re living in a funny world. God seeks man (yeah, He does) yet man is busy seeking his lost socks. Their predicament ends more or less the same because when man finds that one lost sock and returns it back to the rest of the fold, another sock, of another pair seemingly disappears into that land of lost missing socks. The secret place no one knows. Not very sure though that God faces the same dilemma, but He does sure treats us better than we do our socks.
I think human memory is quirky, complicated, and unreliable. I have a problem with socks. I never remember what, where, why and how. They’re always an odd number; meaning there’s always a pair that misplaced the wifey or hubby. Yet, where do all the missing socks go? Sometimes, in my life, I have this feeling that I’d like to go there and stay there forever. I know the missing socks are somewhere obviously safely but obscurely stored in the wrong place laughing at me.
It’s so sad when a magician needs to sneeze, but can’t get his hankie out quick enough because it’s several miles long. But it’s even sadder when you can’t trace a sock. Today, while sorting my clothes for laundry, I found this lone dirty blue mini-sock that was part of a pair that has always been my morning jog favorite. The divorced sock looked at me with this ‘’my wife most likely thinks I’m under the bed but I’m most probably in the soccer pitch’’ look and that’s why I didn’t bother to check beneath there.
Until three months ago, I lost a sock every week and replaced him with two new pairs. There’s one guy who benefited from my weekly losses. He hangs around Nakumatt Lifestyle supermarket selling socks. Apparently, I started buying only black socks so that I’d stop being bothered by lost socks by either;
- Not realizing there’s a lost sock since all are the same colour; or,
- Losing count of lost socks since counting socks of the same colour is tiresome, confusing and not something I’d probably do.
Eventually, I had a stock of only black socks which was glorious. After laundering them, I’d toss them into a drawer. No need to roll or fold or pair them up — just toss ’em in there. When I needed a clean pair of socks, I’d reach in the drawer and pick any two. Voila! Save time in not sorting socks, and every sock you own matches every other sock.
- After some time, I stopped buying new socks to replace lost ones since I didn’t have any guts to realize that I was actually losing a sock every week as before. They were all black and matched.
- After 3 weeks, while sorting laundry, I discovered that of all my apparel possessions, I only had one sock, black in colour. Mark you, the previous day ended with me peeling off a black pair of socks from my feet before jumping to bed.
- I stopped the ‘Black Socks Only’ theoretical solution to my woes and consulted my Nakumatt guy for 14 differently coloured pairs of new socks. Do you know any 14 different colours by name? No? See? That’s your I.Q! And at that rate we’re not gonna solve this missing sock puzzle.
Those results were the most demeaning phase of my life; obviously after my online IQ test results from a quack website I shouldn’t have landed into. Know what? I started that so that I’d confirm that my brain hasn’t been playing any tricks on me and that the socks are gone! So, no brain tricks, just strange forces…
I recently started a ‘Sock Support Group’ for divorced socks. I fancied a place where socks with missing partners or estranged spouses would just sit together and share their agonies while drowning their sorrows in each others’ stinky stench; because well, no need to clean up a matchless sock. Nothing big or fancy, I actually mean just a *dated* lost-sock bag where I stocked any matchless sock I found; so I have some cumulative sock loss data. But here is the rub. If two socks of a pair are missing, are there really any socks gone at all? : (
Fast-forward again to today. The errant blue sock is prolly hiding in the clothes basket or behind some furniture or it never made it into my quarters in the first place. That is disturbing because how i came here once, from a jog, wearing just one sock; is a mystery that questions my memory and reminds me of IQ results :D. Good thing is, a missing sock always appears when cleaning and lifting the skirts off my sofa looking for any other thing like flash disks and pencils. Today, I scouted into my lost-sock bag and realized that I could actually match 7 different pairs. See? The support group worked wonders. Roger what? 5 of them are black.
However, I still have 4 lone socks. That’s why I’ve decided to multi-prong my solutions’ approach by:
- Kicking out visitors’ pets when visitors come by. Not being mean; it’s a just-in-case you know.
- Buying two new rolls of tissue paper every week. Not that I’m sure what you’re thinking actually happens but I’d like to go safe on that because one roll per week as i apparently run on doesn’t seem enough for me, visitors, lizards’ poop on window grills and spilled ketchup.
Otherwise, my game is up for the sock fairy. He’s done! Or maybe this is just part of the games. Let’s see how this week goes.