I have an odd-sock bag in my closet that honestly contains over 75 socks. 75. You might think this is me, exaggerating. One would have to live in a huge house, with dozens of rooms to experience that kind of loss, you muse. They must be around.
I can’t argue with that logic. I am sure that somewhere in the house there’s an identical odd sock bag waiting to be reunited with its long-lost twin. In fact, that reunion was the thing that kept me going.
But this morning, I decided I was done. I’ll tell you why. I have now lived in the US a little over 4 years. And while I think I may have imported some socks, I doubt it was many. It seems though, each year, I have lost almost two socks a month. That’s close to 20 socks a year. My odd sock bad is overflowing.
Now, I can understand losing Autumn’s socks. They are tiny, you could drop one of them in the corner and never even notice it. They can sneak into little places that you don’t look into for years, under washing machines, under dressers, etc.
But my socks? No way that 75+ socks are laying our house. Only thing is, I can’t think of a logical explanation for the sheer magnitude of the sock loss. Maybe this is the answer?
Anyway, this morning I came to a conclusion. This is nuts. I’m starting over. I plan to buy only one kind of sock from here on in. I’m tossing all of my socks and starting over. Odd socks suck. Now, I’ll pick a sock. One sock. And buy 40 of them. Presto, no more odd socks. I’ll let you know how it goes.