Socks come in pairs and most folks have two feet, so it’s more comfortable that way, one sock for each foot. And the socks usually match in color, length and material, as do the feet. From what I have seen, people seem to be happier when they are living in pairs, and you would think this would be true for the socks, as well.
And here’s the problem. Our feet are connected to each other by our leg-pelvis system, while socks do not have this sort of physical connection and they tend to roam.
My experience has been that sometimes, on the way to the laundry room, socks have a tendency to slip out and hide behind the door, dare you to find them in the dark innards of the washing machine, or take a nap inside the sleeve of one of your T-shirts, lulled to sleep by the warmth of the dryer.
The trouble comes at the end of the laundry process, while you are folding the newly washed and dried clothes and matching the socks into pairs and you discover that what’s left is one ankle-length brown sock, one calf-length navy, and one mid-calf black one. Which means that three have gone absent without official leave, been purloined or simply mistakenly thought they could find a better fit on their own. Socks are like that: quite used to walking around a bit.
Dan King photo
Pairing the socks is the problem. You can’t match the brown with the navy, nor the calf-length with the mid-calf. That wouldn’t be right. That would be miscsoxcegenation, and besides, it would not be comfortable at all. And if anyone noticed, you’d have to mutter that, “Well now, it’s hard to see things clearly at 5:30 in the morning without turning on the lights and risk waking your other up too early.”
I’ve found a solution that works for me. It doesn’t require buying mesh bags or tying the socks together in pairs before sending them off to the great wash and dry.
When you take your socks off at the end of the day, instead of throwing them in the laundry bag or clothes hamper, insert your hand and arm all the way into the first sock, your fingers all the way to the toe, and then draw the other sock over top of the first so they are snuggling, one inside the other, kissy-face, huggy-bear all cuddly together, and then put them together this way in your laundry bag or clothes hamper for the long wait till the next wash day.
Done this way, my socks come as clean from the washer and as dry from the dryer as they would if they were separated and looking around for a mate. Sharing life’s experiences helps bind the socks together as much as it would do so for us.
The motto is: Socks that play together stay together. Give it a try.
Heavily nuanced, this treatise on socks started out as an allegory on our two-party political system, but it didn’t turn out that way. It’s not about Republicans and Democrats, it’s just about socks.
Orrin Frink is a Kennebunkport resident. He can be reached at ofrink@gmail.com
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