February 19, 2007
I have a confession to make…
I never believed in the sock monster.
I’ve always been scornful of people who believe in the sock monster, figuring they were just careless. I know, I know, but Mom had two rules about socks when we were growing up: 1.) If you took them off, you folded them together. 2.) A sock did not go in the laundry unless its mate was also there. What can I say? The sock monster never visited our place, and I kept to those rules when I went out on my own, and it never visited my place, either.
I did a load of clothes not long ago, washed and dried them like normal. Then I went to fold the jeans and dark shirts and socks. And there it was. One red sock. Only one red sock. What’s more, it turned out to be my last red sock. There was another pair in the wash—a whole pair!—but, alas, when I went to put them on, I discovered they had holes in them. And then that’s when I found out that the mate to the lone red sock was nowhere to be found, and I had no more red socks.
So what’s the big deal? The thing is, I love socks. I am not a black and white sock person. If I’m wearing a turquoise shirt, I wear turquoise socks. If I’m wearing a yellow shirt, I wear yellow socks. If I’m wearing a red shirt, I wear red socks. And I have a lot of red shirts! I went to Wal-Mart, because they’ve always come through for me with the socks. Not this time. There was not one red sock in the store. Oh, there was one cute pair of bandana print red socks, but it was part of a set, and the others in the set were black and white. And, so, I have no red socks, and half a dozen favorite red shirts.
All right! I believe! I believe! Now can I have my other red sock back? Please?