I was walking back from the laundry room in our housing complex and, putting my hand in my jacket pocket, a warm, fuzzy feeling came over me – accompanied by a smile. The reason? There, nestling in my pocket was the sock from my favourite pair that had gone missing in the laundry a few weeks ago. This morning when I walked into the laundry room there it was – sitting on the radiator by the washing machine as bold as brass and completely unrepentent. Nor did it offer any explanation as to where it had been
What does happen to all the socks that go missing in the washing? Does the machine eat them do you think? Is there a League of Odd-Sock Persons who spend hours devising ways of chanelling lone socks into a special compartment in the machine – to be retrieved by a team of trolls later and taken in bulk to the One Sock Market to be sold to the highest bidder? My blood goes cold to think that is what may have happened to my sock before it effected its escape. What bravery – what hardship it must have endured over the past weeks. And there it was, bravely silent in my pocket making its way home.
There in the sock drawer lie several odd socks, languishing in the hopes that their partner will return. Some have been there for a long time. This particular sock was a `newbie` so its partner had not been on its own too long. Not that you would know that from the delighted giggles, chuckles and cooings sounds coming from the sock drawer once they were re-united.