It was yet another tan ribbed sock, but this time, from my DH's stash (they co-habitate with my pairless stash on the floor of my closet.) I found this one hanging out amongst a basket full of clean laundry. It was actually a rather unbelievable way to make its return to the sockdom, as if my DH wore one without the other or something. I saw it there mingling with the rest of the pile, trying hard to blend in. I thought I recognized it as one of the runaways, but dismissed the idea rather quickly, thinking surely a second sock would not piggyback its return so soon on such a similar peer. When I was done folding, there it was again, all alone at the bottom of the basket, looking uncomfortably out of place. It displayed quite a different attitude than the first. It was much more nonchalant, as if trying to mask its comeback. I'm not sure why this second sock displayed such reservation about coming home, but I could barely stand to look at it in all its misery. So without much hope, I went to rummage through the lone sock stash. And to my great surprise, its lonesome mate was right there waiting for me.
I'm starting to wonder if the secret sock society has declared a mandatory homecoming for all the tan ribbed socks.
(Two down, fifteen to go!)
1 comment:
.....sometimes.....i talk to strangers.
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