Sock Troubles...

They are at it again. I can hear them giggling and whispering behind my back. It never fails. Just when I think I am in control, that I have things firmly in hand - Kaboom!

The socks of the world have united against me. I have no less than 8 different socks in varying shade of pearl grey, mud spattered white, coffee stained yellow and black with stripes, black with ribbed coating and not a one has a mate.

I feel like I have become the host of the dating game for socks. In this corner over here we have a lovely white sock with a small hole in the big toe – extra air conditioning really- looking extremely dapper and in need of a mate. And over here looking suave and sexy is gold toe reinforced cashmere sock eagerly in need of a mating…

I swear, they go in as two and come out as one. It makes no sense. Does the laundry machine eat them; chew them up and spit them out as lint bits? I just don’t know. Where do these rapscallions hide? Amidst and among the shirt sleeves and coat tails? In the lining of swim suits? In the hoods of sweat shirts? Why can’t they just stay with their mates? What is this divorce court? It is out of control.

And then just when I think I am going to just toss the bunch of rabble rousers and start over – or maybe turn them into dusting clothes for hard to reach place or puppets with bug eyes for me to use as wake up calls for DH and DS, just then out pops a varmint from the inner lining of a recently changed set of sheets or from the folds of a swim towel giving me a smug look as it plops very unceremoniously to the ground.

Failing dismally at my ability to manage the socks I see little hope for the rest of the house. I think it is time to think about a trade-in- I will talk to the DH – maybe there is a good trade in on a used model of house wife these days…




copyright 2009-2010 all rights reserved.

Sock Crisis

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???