The Phantom of the Missing Sock



I now declare defeat against the Missing Sock.

 

There is definitely magical power at work. Eeky stuff! You just can't crack the mystery like the Tooth Fairy or the Father Christmas mysteries that were solved as you grew up. Finding out that the Tooth Fairy was your mother in Mother Hubbard stoop or that your dad's paunch evaded you all those years until you caught him red-handed in the Red Xmas felt suit, made you feel foolish, I bet. But you didn't feel defeated, socked. No, no... You still had some dignity in tact and could get away with "I knew it" retort. Not do with the M.S. Syndrome, I tell you.

 

This is where the Missing Sock reigns supreme. Doing the laundry is already a chore even if you have an automatic machine and a tumble drier. Knowing you are going to come off second best because of the missing sock, is enough to drive you beserk .

 

I have tried all the tricks in the book to outfox the Missing Sock.

 

I accused the sock owners of carelessness, of sabotaging the laundry, of deliberately hiding stinky socks in their bedrooms and so forth. At one point, I even dumped the single socks.I believed that my drastic action would solve our sock dilemma and we could start with a clean slate. I was so desperate I almost took over the laundry chore permanently. I was going to solve the problem once and for all.

 

When doing the laundry, I located the sock partners like a high mission job. I kept them tightfisted in the palm of my hand and then dropped both matching socks in the drum of the washing machine. I even suffocated them with heavy items such as jeans and bath towels.

I painstakingly hung the socks on the line, pegging them fiercely so that not even gale force winds could dislodge them.

 

Alas, none of these plans worked.


Somehow, when the clean laundry has to be packed away, there is always a lost sock, lying there and haunting you. Laughing and sneering at you, I am sure. Is this not the height of all agony - being beaten- again- by a piece of flimsy piece of cotton shaped like a foot?

 

I have surrendered to the Missing Sock Phantom

 

In fact, I have even converted my favourite picnic basket into an orphanage to house all the Lost Socks. When my family members look for a partner for a sock, they make a beeline to The Sock Basket to find a sock closest in colour and design. The only concern, though, is that the basket is reaching capacity. We may soon have to vacate a room in the house to make way for future footloose socks.

 

The Phantom of the Missing Sock still reigns supreme.

 

 

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