For years, American households have been the scene of disappearances that go unreported, unnoticed, and largely unresolved. These are quiet little secrets not spoken of except by the bravest of souls. Erma Bombeck, Amy VanSant, Dorothy Adele were pioneers in speaking out against the disappearances plaguing American homes coast to coast. In recent years, it’s become the burden of modern bloggers to speak out against the scourge. To give voice to the frustration and angst. To rail against this pervasive mystery that continues tormenting people everywhere.
Missing socks.
There are currently 48 ummatched socks laying on my laundry table, neatly ordered and in 4 rows, one for each household member. I can extrapolate this number to guess that since 2002, nearly 672 socks have gone missing from my home. 672.
My home has been the scene of mass disappearances since I birthed my first child in 2002. Prior to that, my socks were content to mate for life, like lobsters or geese and never stray farther than a single load of laundry from each other. When you’re reading “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” they devote much paper to acclimating your pets to the new addition to your house, but nary a word on how to make your laundry devices, systems, and even the laundry itself adjust. I wasn't surprised when the microscopic socks disappeared. I was just surprised when it continued into normal sock range and began affecting the adult socks in the house.
I moved into a new home last year. I brought with me my bag of unmatched socks. I’m not sure why. My theory on the lonely socks that belonged to my children was that their mates were somewhere in the messy bedrooms into which I do not venture. I had no theory on the disappearance of my socks, aside from them standing with their brethren in solidarity. So by moving, in theory, I had left behind ALL of the potential for random sock return. It was at that point that I considered tossing them all. I really did. I'm not sure why I didn't outside of sentimentality. And the fact that the girls had become sock snobs and so many of those damn singletons were PINK or Nike. I'm frugal if nothing.
BUT, then, the kids came home after their first weekend staying with their dad. Guess what came back in one of the backpacks. 2 single socks. Which matched single socks I had. Well fuck. So much for that idea. One sock is an anomaly. 2 is potential. I couldn’t throw out these socks. Their lifemates could be just across town!!! So I held on to the socks. Since the inaugural return, 5 more socks have been returned to their partners, without a word. Sometimes they’re in side pockets of the backpacks, sometimes they are in plastic bags with the Gatorade and peanut butter that the kids bring back. In one notable instance I found one on the front seat of my car. It’s just enough to have kept me hanging on. Believing that perhaps soulmates do exist, they’re just acrylic fibers woven together and not people.
And then this weekend.
It’s been a couple months since the last reunion. I’ve had new singles join the ranks of the forlorn group on my laundry table. I did 15 loads of laundry. I scoured every room in the house in an attempt to have every bit of laundry done. I assembled all single socks neatly and surveyed the scene. At this point it’s about 50/50. Half of the crew came with me in the move and half of them are newly abandoned. I’m not sure if their mate huffed off after a disagreement over who was right and who was left. I’m not sure if there are confused aliens beaming up my socks thinking that they’re the intelligent life form on the planet (who could blame them after recent events?). Maybe they’re just stuck inside my washer in a super secret place. But the singles club is taking up half of my folding space. HALF. I'm really pleased with the little laundry space I have for myself. There's a big table, a fuzzy rug, a comfy chair, it's my zen place. And it currently looks like a strange hand puppet breeding farm.
Now mind you, two of the children are content to wear mismatch socks. This gives the socks a Tinder like option of leaving the table. I hold them up together, see if they look like a good match and if so, wad them up together, throw them in a dark drawer and let them have at it. This doesn’t work for every sock though. Like the Spiderman socks. JT received a pack of Spiderman socks. 6 pairs of Spiderman socks. Each pair a different design. You know what’s on my table? 6 individual Spiderman socks. Every single pair managed to spidey sense themselves into singledom. Apparently Spidey is a jerk.
I’m tempted. Sorely tempted to take a rash and bold step, and purge the table. Start fresh. Know that 2017 was the year every sock in my home had a mate. And for the singles who couldn’t be helped, repurpose them into useful spinsters. Pinterest says they make great reusable swiffer sweepers.
But, I dreamt last night that I purged the table. And then experienced a mass return of epic proportions. 672 socks streaming into my home like Harry Potter’s first letter from Hogwarts. Clearly a message from the aliens that their plans are more important than open space on my laundry table.
Missing socks.
There are currently 48 ummatched socks laying on my laundry table, neatly ordered and in 4 rows, one for each household member. I can extrapolate this number to guess that since 2002, nearly 672 socks have gone missing from my home. 672.
My home has been the scene of mass disappearances since I birthed my first child in 2002. Prior to that, my socks were content to mate for life, like lobsters or geese and never stray farther than a single load of laundry from each other. When you’re reading “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” they devote much paper to acclimating your pets to the new addition to your house, but nary a word on how to make your laundry devices, systems, and even the laundry itself adjust. I wasn't surprised when the microscopic socks disappeared. I was just surprised when it continued into normal sock range and began affecting the adult socks in the house.
I moved into a new home last year. I brought with me my bag of unmatched socks. I’m not sure why. My theory on the lonely socks that belonged to my children was that their mates were somewhere in the messy bedrooms into which I do not venture. I had no theory on the disappearance of my socks, aside from them standing with their brethren in solidarity. So by moving, in theory, I had left behind ALL of the potential for random sock return. It was at that point that I considered tossing them all. I really did. I'm not sure why I didn't outside of sentimentality. And the fact that the girls had become sock snobs and so many of those damn singletons were PINK or Nike. I'm frugal if nothing.
BUT, then, the kids came home after their first weekend staying with their dad. Guess what came back in one of the backpacks. 2 single socks. Which matched single socks I had. Well fuck. So much for that idea. One sock is an anomaly. 2 is potential. I couldn’t throw out these socks. Their lifemates could be just across town!!! So I held on to the socks. Since the inaugural return, 5 more socks have been returned to their partners, without a word. Sometimes they’re in side pockets of the backpacks, sometimes they are in plastic bags with the Gatorade and peanut butter that the kids bring back. In one notable instance I found one on the front seat of my car. It’s just enough to have kept me hanging on. Believing that perhaps soulmates do exist, they’re just acrylic fibers woven together and not people.
And then this weekend.
It’s been a couple months since the last reunion. I’ve had new singles join the ranks of the forlorn group on my laundry table. I did 15 loads of laundry. I scoured every room in the house in an attempt to have every bit of laundry done. I assembled all single socks neatly and surveyed the scene. At this point it’s about 50/50. Half of the crew came with me in the move and half of them are newly abandoned. I’m not sure if their mate huffed off after a disagreement over who was right and who was left. I’m not sure if there are confused aliens beaming up my socks thinking that they’re the intelligent life form on the planet (who could blame them after recent events?). Maybe they’re just stuck inside my washer in a super secret place. But the singles club is taking up half of my folding space. HALF. I'm really pleased with the little laundry space I have for myself. There's a big table, a fuzzy rug, a comfy chair, it's my zen place. And it currently looks like a strange hand puppet breeding farm.
Now mind you, two of the children are content to wear mismatch socks. This gives the socks a Tinder like option of leaving the table. I hold them up together, see if they look like a good match and if so, wad them up together, throw them in a dark drawer and let them have at it. This doesn’t work for every sock though. Like the Spiderman socks. JT received a pack of Spiderman socks. 6 pairs of Spiderman socks. Each pair a different design. You know what’s on my table? 6 individual Spiderman socks. Every single pair managed to spidey sense themselves into singledom. Apparently Spidey is a jerk.
I’m tempted. Sorely tempted to take a rash and bold step, and purge the table. Start fresh. Know that 2017 was the year every sock in my home had a mate. And for the singles who couldn’t be helped, repurpose them into useful spinsters. Pinterest says they make great reusable swiffer sweepers.
But, I dreamt last night that I purged the table. And then experienced a mass return of epic proportions. 672 socks streaming into my home like Harry Potter’s first letter from Hogwarts. Clearly a message from the aliens that their plans are more important than open space on my laundry table.
Gather the singles and stitch them into a fabulous, orphan sock quilt! One of a kind!
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