An ode to those (socks) left behind


One of the great mysteries of the world is how socks manage to always disappear in the laundry. No matter how you try – or how many SkyMall-catalog “sock keeper clips” you go through – they still disappear.  This leads to only one logical explanation: the socks that vanish DON’T WANT to be found.  That’s right… they’re runaways.

Socks have good reason to escape: spending all day wedged between stinky, sweaty feet and bacteria-laden orthotic in-soles.  But the tragedy is, I don’t think these rebellious little fellows think about the real victim of their departure: the sock that is left behind.

So in case you happen to be a single sock on the lam, I wanted to write this post on behalf of your loved ones who have spent 17 months pining for you in the back of a bedside drawer… being looked over, day after day.  You see, when you left, you sentenced your sock twin – your very own cotton & elastane – to a fate that I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Without you there, each and every day, your old pal is forced to endure the pain of the fat, nerdy kid at school when the cool kids are picking soccer teams – slowly watching everyone else get picked ahead of him.  Even on the worst day, when the drawer is decidedly quiet, and all the good socks are hanging out in the laundry hamper, those tragic Ninja Turtles socks from 1991 (yes, the ones with with the hole in the right heel) get picked ahead of him.

Some days he will get pulled out momentarily, and the hope in his little sock heart will soar, thinking ‘today is the day’. But that hope will inevitably be shattered, when your absence is again discovered and he is thrown even further to the back of the drawer, never to feel the clammy warmth of fungus-laden toes ever again.

Now that you have been gone so long, he has been forced to give in and accept that his best days are behind him.  That time you saved your owner from terrible blisters when he had to run uptown in italian leather business shoes.  That one beautiful week when you were accidentally put away in the drawer with “Mrs. Owner’s” delicates from Victoria’s Secret. And the time you got to be the first pair of socks in Mr Owner’s new snakeskin boots.

But now, the best day he can imagine as he wallows in the back of the drawer, is that the laundry machines break down and Mr. Owner gets desperate enough to pair him up with the lonely grey argyle hiding under the sports socks. That’s right… you’ve left him in a world where going out as an “odd” sock would be a step up in the world.

I hope you found what you wanted – wherever it was that you ran off to – but just know that someone else is paying the price back home, you selfish bastard.

— irish

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