It's laundry night again and time for a visit with my missing socks collection. Most of the week, I ignore the large pile, but every time I sit (ha) down to fold, they confront me. Again.
My family misplaces socks by the dozens. And I turn the house upside down, refusing to accept that they simply vanish.
Over the years, I've stubbornly blamed (not necessarily in this order), my children, the cat, the wind, the dryer, my husband and the raccoons for the strange and unexplainable disappearance of approximately 83 single socks. (I've also kept the lonely matches, thinking there had to be a logical explanation for this phenomenon, and thus that their mates would eventually be back.)
Now I know this problem is definitely not a new one. And I'm sure I'm not the only Mom who's picked through drawers, hockey bags, cars, toy boxes, sofa cushions and under the beds in an effort to find lone socks over the years. (All for naught, I might add.)
So I've come to the only conclusion to be reached here: the 'i've-lost-my-socks' fairy.
And who am I to stunt her wardrobe creativity? Actually, I think I like the look.
And at least now, I can throw in the towel, finally, donate the extra socks and move on.