In my home, there seems to be a bermuda like triangle between my bedroom and the kitchen where my socks go to die. I should be more specific, one sock in each pair seems to be sucked into a vacuum, never to be seen again (not a literal vacuum because then I could retrieve it, rendering this blog entry redundant). Every time I need to do my laundry, I take extra care with my socks, as I have lost so many to the black sock hole. I empty my laundry basket, and carry the socks in cradled arms (like one would hold a new born baby) before carefully placing them in the washing machine. Before I turn the machine on, I retrace my steps to make sure that nothing has fallen out during my descent, and also the laundry basket in case something was left behind. Once I have confirmed that both socks are in the machine, I switch it on.
As the machine beeps to let me know that its work is done, I walk towards it with bated breath, eager to find out whether the twins have survived. As I empty the machine and begin to hang the washing, I find that yet again, one sock has disappeared. I empty the machine, I check the filters, I trace and retrace my steps and bury my head in the laundry basket in search of the sock; and nothing. Another sock has lost its sole mate.
I'm considering more drastic measures; and may resort to attaching each sock to the end of a long piece of string to keep them together. Like our parents used to do for our winter gloves/mittens when we were young. I can just thread the string through each trouser leg and voila! Although knowing my luck, I will probably just end up ensuring the loss of both socks rather than just the one.
I had thought that moving out of my familial home would have ended my sock problems; having lived with a sister and mother who loved to 'share' my socks. Whilst that battle raged, I was unaware of just what my future nemesis would be. I am now an unwitting and unwilling soldier in the war against the machine. As much as I'd like to say it was as important as the political machine that others rage against, this is just a household appliance. And what's worst is that it doesn't even have a dryer component! I am losing a war against a half finished white good!
I write this post as a means of recruiting fellow warriors in this clothing crusade. We must find out where these socks are going, and more importantly, why. What does a plastic box have to gain from stealing our woven friends? Is it so we can be as cold as the metal that stands where their hearts should be?
We can not let them win. Now who's with me?