Lost socks...

Thank God today is National Lost Sock Memorial Day, without it there probably wouldn't have been a blog this evening. Yes, it’s a slow news day in my world.

I don’t know how many socks I’ve lost over the years, but at the rate of just two a year it would add up to well over 100. Multiply that by every sock wearer in the country and that is one hell of a hill of lost hose.

Those poor lost socks, just where do they all go? Is there a land of lost socks somewhere, or do they simply disappear into another time or dimension through a black hole? Maybe it’s caused by one legged aliens sneaking into the nation’s sock drawers at night, or mice looking for a cosy sleeping bag to take back to their holes. It could even be the work of a single culprit - let’s call him the Sock Snatcher – who, like those men that steal ladies panties from washing lines, just can’t get enough single socks to satisfy his single sock fetish. Ah, the sniff of a fresh sock…

It isn’t just the lost sock either. How does the solo sock that’s left behind feel? Lonely I guess. Somehow I just can’t bear to throw that poor singleton sock away and they languish in my sock drawer hoping that one day their partner will return, which of course they never do. Sometimes, if they are the same colour, I pair them up with another solo sock and wear them out occasionally. Well, it’s a bit of a treat for both of them, a little company, a day out, and nobody ever seems to notice that they don’t completely match.

Of course, there must be lots of uses for those socks that I can’t pair up.

I’ll have a think about that and get back to you.