OK, there are some things in life that you just can't explain. No matter how hard you try. I'm not talking about Stonehenge here. I'm talking about socks. You know what I mean. When you do laundry and find that lone sock, the one without a mate. Where in the hell do those socks go?
I have gone on search and rescue missions to no avail. I've searched high and low - under beds, behind the couch. Once, I even dismantled my dryer in hopes that a sock or two or twenty had somehow gotten sucked through the back. The only thing I gained through that little experiment was a big pile of lint a huge scratch on my leg from tripping over the various parts of dryer and landing on the lint trap. No socks.
I have a box full of the socks without matches. They come in all colors and styles, and no one in my family is immune. Even the kids have a collection of unmatched socks. The sad thing is that their feet will probably grow too big to fit in them by the time I find the matches.
My husband thinks we should throw out all of our socks - even the ones that are in a pair. He thinks we should all start fresh and buy one style of sock. His philosophy is that if we each have only one type of sock, there will always be a match. It seems like a good idea in theory, but I just can't fathom such an outrageous thought. I mean, doesn't he know that a girl needs different socks? Fuzzy ones, colored ones, striped ones, ones with toes?
I can't even bring myself to throw out the ones in the mismatched box. I just keep thinking that someday I will prevail in this fight and find the long lost matches. Every now and then I do find a match, and let me tell you - that feels good. It's like a small victory each time.