Rogue socks

There is a pair of rogue sock in the house and it’s driving me ape-shit. Absolutely, certifiably crazy.

The thing is, I’ve washed probably about a dozen or so loads of laundry in the last two weeks. And as I’ve prepared every single load to be cleaned, I have placed that little purple and white sock gently on top with the mental memo that I can finally wash it.

And then somewhere between the clothes or towels eagerly waiting in front of the washer and actually being placed in the washer, the sock goes missing. And I completely forget about it. Until 30 minutes later when I’m preparing another load of laundry and I see the lone purple and white sock mocking me from the floor. Then, without thinking, the cycle of attempting to wash this sock begins again as it’s, once again, placed gently on top of the clothes waiting their turn.

Yesterday morning, Caitlin decided she wanted to play upstairs rather than downstairs so after getting the kids settled with tea sets and jumpers, I ran down quickly to retrieve my laptop. As I walked back to the stairs my eyes wandered over to the laundry piles on the floor, and there, amidst the dirty trousers and cold lifeless sweaters lay a little purple and white sock, waiting to be washed.

I threw in the pants and sweaters with complete and utter disregard to whose they may be or what kind of cleaning they require, and finally grabbed that little sock. I even stood watching the laundry swish around in the washer for several minutes, hoping to get a glimpse of it. Once I did, I smiled to myself smugly and continued on my way.

When I got up the stairs, I went straight for the dresser that contained the other little sock. I wanted to get it prepared for my victory against it and it’s vile twin.

I shifted through all the little colorful socks and Dora underwear until the smile of triumph began to fade from myself.

And just like that, it became apparent that the matching sock was no where to be found.

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