Socks

Where do they go? It’s the classic question that everyone asks. Unless they are hobbits. Or fish. Or maybe double amputees.

Socks literally just disappear. Which is annoying, and curious. It’s not the world’s worst problem, unless the socks are disappearing because a sibling stole them. Which, although reassuring in one sense as it debunks the theory of The Sock Monster, is totally heinous, apparently.  The story goes like this:

Number One did her laundry. Impressive.

Number One laid her wet socks on the window sill to dry. Less impressive.

Number Two left her sock-finding to five minutes before she was due to leave for school. Unimpressive. She had spied the drying socks on the window sill the night before. When she discovered someone (Mummy) had moved them, she was incensed! INCENSED! ( I didn’t really want wet socks left out like that, frankly.)

There ensued a quiet remonstration so as not to alert Number One to the near-miss theft of her socks. The general point I was trying to subtly make was that Number Two should have got her socks ready the night before. She was arguing unsubtly that she had prepared herself by eyeing up the socks arranged on the window sill and had thus done rather a lot of  planning. I pointed out that plotting to steal someone else’s damp, drying socks was not just poor preparation but indeed, theft – LARCENY! Not just that but a total disregard for the fact that the socks had been arranged there for a reason. They were barely out of the machine, wet and – did I mention? NOT HERS!

Typically, Number One sniffed out the drama, and got wind of her younger sister’s pilfering intentions. And this is what I was attempting to avoid: Sockgate at 8.08 am.

I tried to interject that I’d already remonstrated with Number Two. I also pointed out to Number One that the window sill was not the most ideal drying surface. But it was too late. 

Hey presto. Siblings at war.

At least it explains where missing pairs of socks might go, but it still doesn’t justify why I start with a set of Monday to Friday fellas, and soon, a few weeks in, end up with this: 

It’s a twunting mystery.