Socks

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There are White Sox. Not a fan. There are Red Sox.  Can’t say anything positive about them.  They exist for the Bronx Bombers to beat. Then there are white socks. The kind you wear with your sneakers, train in and just wear when strolling about the city. There are black socks that are also designed for this. Then there are business socks. The kind you wear with your dress clothes. They can be black, brown, navy and other colors. The standard is usually black.  All socks come in different lengths, whether they be knee-highs or ones that don’t show. Of course, there is the famous old school Boy Scout socks with the garters or with the red band on top of the thick green sock. The new ones are boring. They just say BSA in black at the very top.

Then there are missing socks.  The question is where do they go?  Thanks to my grandmother who was the Thom McCann Jox Sox queen, over the years, I’ve learned quite a bit about socks and shoes. I have enjoyed some shoes. 

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Like most people, I do a load or two of laundry each week.  Before COVID-19, I always brought my clothes to the cleaners and had them done. Now laundry is entertainment. Sad world we live in. On that note, years ago, I used to be “Laundry Boy” in a prior apartment complex.

Now that I am back doing it, I am reuniting or trying to reunite socks.  They always seem to go missing from a load of laundry. I am always happy when I put it away if they all match up.  And I mean properly match up.  The right size, opening for your foot, store logo, etc. Usually the Gap for me.  All too often, I found socks that are similar but not exact.

Sometimes a sock stays in the laundry bag and doesn’t make it to the washing machine. Or never made it to the laundry bag and basket. It winds up on the floor underneath.

Sometimes when transferring from the washer to the dryer it can get dropped on the floor. To combat that I take things one by one from machine to machine.  Once things are in the dryer, I leave the laundry room, listen to music and do a variety of things.

I watch the clock. When the dry time concludes I race back to the laundry room to take it upstairs.  I fold my apparel and put it away.  I pair my socks. But often some socks remain single.  They are looking for their mates.  Due the lack of real entertainment such as going to ‘Da Bronx to watch the Red Sox get beaten, I’ve tried to reunite socks.

I’ve emptied the sock drawers from by bureau and separated them all. I carefully looked at each one and paired the proper ones together.  For some, there were no pairs. They sit on top of the bureau and wait for reunification. Sometimes after doing laundry I reunite a pair.

Last Wednesday, I reunited not one, but two pairs.  A glorious morning.

As I was typing this, I was doing laundry. I am happy to report that all laundered socks were paired.  None were missing.

Happy socks.

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