There is a conspiracy going on in my house. It has been going on for years and while I have patiently tried to humor the offending culprits, I have reached a point of complete exasperation.
The varmints have been hiding in pant legs, somewhere deep inside the bowels of the washing machine, inside pillow covers and in a host of other places that when I try and provide my DH and DS with matching mates, well, it is less than plausible.
I am referring to socks - those colorful or not so colorful bits of cloth as the case may be that are designed to be worn on feet and with shoes.
It’s not like they live in a prison or anything. I mean, they have it pretty good - for socks. They are kept fresh and clean and get to keep a step in time with the likes of aforementioned loved ones. I painstakingly put them in the washing machine together and yet, somehow, through some as yet undefined trick of the hand they poof- come out bedraggled and single.
Single socked I scratch my head and search high and low – one of these days I am going to take the washer apart and find a nest of matchless mates having a martini party in there- I just know it.
They are having a laughable time at my expense – Woody Allen could have a field day making a goofball comedy about the lady who went loopy over lost mates….I can see it now.
My most recent humiliation by these varmints came when I went to drop off my DH’s shirts at the dry cleaners this morning. I have a big blue laundry bag in which I place all of the items for the dry cleaners to help separate them from the basic wash and dry variety that yours truly attempts to handle. Key word being “attempts.” We have managed to turn quite a few pairs of tidy whities into a lovely shade of blush over the years. That however, is a story for another day.
Speaking of tidy whities, I was pulling the items out of said laundry bag and laying them on the counter for the clerk to count when plop! There on the counter was something that did not belong on the counter. Neither did it belong in the dry cleaning bag. It belonged in the lingerie bag. Those socks – I just know they had something to do with my- ahem- undergarment (the pretty blue La Perla one) lying on the counter for all to see.
Well, I scooped it up before you could say “What time is it” in Portuguese – which I haven’t a clue how to say.
The socks have taken to hiding not only themselves but have brought in the tidy whities and undergarments; in fact there is an entire Mafia connection plotting its next move- no pun intended -while I lament the unwieldy tribulations of being the lost sock mom.
…to be continued…Monk where are you when I need you???