The Ones that get Away




I wrote this article a few years ago for another blog site I used to write at. I was in one of my more nonsensical moods and just started going. This will probably tell you more about me than you really want to know. Please comment. Maybe you don’t like my plans. Maybe you have better ones. Last time around this got some pretty interesting comments. I’m looking forward to hearing yours. By the way, all images are from Google Images.

Tears for Fears once sang, “Everybody wants to rule the world”, and while this isn’t necessarily the case with me, it would be fun to step up and lead the progress of a change that definitely needs making. I’m not talking about world peace or an end to starvation. Unfortunately I will never see that in my lifetime. Instead, I would settle for a slightly more attainable goal. Don’t mock my lack of vision or failure to tackle the big issues. My goal has nothing to do with “Weapons of Mass Destruction” or global warming. My goal, does however, affect the lives of every man, woman and child on this earth. Well, those that wear socks at least.

I would use my power to invent a washing machine and dryer that do not “lose” one of the socks each time you do laundry. We can put a man on the moon, send a satellite into another galaxy, find a way to make Charlize Theron ugly in the movie Monster, and even allow K. Fed to produce an album; surely it isn’t beyond us to build a better washing machine?


How many missing socks did she eat for that role huh?

The current state of our laundry situation on a global scale has got me worried. I’m starting to feel like the Professor from Gilligan’s Island is in control of everything. The man could build a radio out of coconuts but he couldn’t fix a damn hole in a boat? Come on dude, simplify! Get off Ginger and Maryanne and get to fixing the boat. I don’t think that’s what the Skipper meant when he told you to start “plugging the hole!”

Now, I can’t put the entire blame on Maytag, Kenmore, or any other appliance corporation for the state of this mess. I know it is their machines that are causing these strange disappearances, but it’s not like we, as a society, are doing enough to prevent it, or, find answers to solve it. We, therefore, must shoulder some of the blame.

On any given laundry day, a person will retrieve their laundry and drop it on the bed, the floor, anywhere they choose, and begin the folding and putting away process. Some people even decide to iron their socks. For those people I have no help for. I’ve got Stephen Hawking working on it and he told me you’re all “one rung away from stepping off the evolutionary ladder.” Now, I’m not saying that socks can walk away or anything like it, but it might be possible. If I can take a photo with my phone, what is to stop a sock from walking away?

For the realists amongst you, I will rule out this point, but only against my better judgment. You hang up your shirts, fold your trousers, put your unmentionables away and start to pair up your socks. This is when the pain and horror set in. You have one left. You don’t even know what foot it belongs to, unless you buy those weird socks with toes. But they’re like gloves for my feet, I hear you say. To you, I only have one thing to say, “That plastic bag is like a glove for your head. Make sure it fits snug.”


Freaky looking things aren’t they?

And is there anything more depressing than the sight of one sock, alone, scared, laying on your bed or in your laundry basket? The sock knows there isn’t much hope for him. Sure, another one of his friends may go missing and he won’t be surplus to requirements anymore, but his partner, the other sock that came through the factory with him, the sock that spent those long days holding his or her breath as they sat in plastic wrapping together, is gone forever. And how do you repay him? You discard him, and abandon looking for his friend, his partner, for all we know, his lover. I will no longer hear the sobs of sad lonely socks. The shrieks are nightmare inducing.

What do we do, really, to find these missing socks? We trace our steps back to the laundry room and look; only on the floor and in the machines until we are certain that the sock is gone. Well, that’s just not good enough. Granted, most men wouldn’t look for the G-Spot if Jessica Alba asked them to but that is an entirely different post all together.

If I were a sock, alone, away from my partner and my fellow clothing friends, I’d want to run and hide, seek some kind of refuge from the house pets, the vacuum, and dust bunnies. A large house can be intimidating to a lone sock.

If I were a sock I would want somewhere to go. I would want a house of refuge, a safe-haven where I could be with others like me. If we can have compounds for people of like nationalities in foreign countries, why can’t we have missing sock safe houses?

That would be my next step. I’d fix the machines, and then I’d set up safe houses for all the missing socks, because, we both know, some socks will still choose to walk away on their own. This facility would be open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, but would not be open on February 29th of the Leap years because that would just be silly.

I would have doormen, armed with fabric softener, maybe some thread, and heating pads to make these wayward socks feel comfortable and wanted. There would be private rooms where stockings and knee-highs could put on a little show for the wool work socks. We would have a senior’s wing where all the legwarmers and unused sock suspender things would go to play canasta, shuffleboard, and bingo. The high-end socks might even be whisked through security and check-in and end up in the VIP Room waiting on Tom Jones to come in and pick out the best one to stuff down the front of his pants.


Does anyone still wear these?

People could come, no appointment necessary, and search through our database of missing socks living under our roof. This would be a place where dreams could come true again. A place where tears of joy led to heartwarming stories. This would be a place that would lift the spirit of man. This would be a place where kids could come in to find that perfect sock to fill with catnip to give to their new kittens. It’s not naked boobs and $1 beer; but it is beautiful nonetheless.

But I wouldn’t let it stand there, oh no, not me. When I put my mind to things I see them through. In the Wild West we had “Wanted” posters in the post office, I would institute “Missing Sock” posters in Laundromats. Each Laundromat would be “policed” by a sock expert, possibly someone who has used them as puppets (socks would appreciate a cleaner less stinky appendage to be attached to for a minute or two) to keep an eye on dastardly socks, and to keep them calm and talk them out of any potential misdemeanors.


Lambchop – Aspiring socks still keep the dream

And, because, like it or not, we live in an elitist society, the lucky few who can afford such charities can advertise on detergent boxes. If it is okay to have a picture of a missing child on a milk cartoon, it is certainly not out of order to have a photo of a missing sock on a box of Tide.

So that is my plan. I doubt it will make the world a safer place, but it will keep both of your feet warm at the same time, and probably make you happier as well. So, enjoy the start of your workweek but don’t get too hung up on the trivial little things that get you down. At the end of the day you are still better off than that poor helpless sock tucked between your bedside table and the wall. Remember to share a thought for him – and probably one for the moron who thought this up as well.

One last thing – when you have these socks, in pairs, happy, begging to be worn, please don’t wear them with sandals.


The Voice himself – One sock short of a full pant suit

Once again, all images found on Google Images. I take no credit for them whatsoever.

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