I always do my laundry on Friday, when I’m off work, and there is nothing that drives me crazy is trying to match up all the socks, especially when there is one missing. So the eternal question is, where the heck does that sock actually go?
It always starts out okay when putting everything in the washing machine, but by the time it’s done in the dryer, it’s missing! Is the dryer that hungry that it has to eat my socks?
Although there are many things I like to eat, socks aren’t one of them. Why does the dryer enjoy it so much? It gets to eat all the lint it wants before I clean out the trap, so what’s the problem?
I once asked Pete the appliance repair man this question when he had the dryer opened up, and all he said was that there were no socks inside. That doesn’t mean a thing; the damn dryer already ate it!
It really annoys me when it’s a new dress sock no less. I couldn’t care less if it’s an old one with a hole in it, or the mate has something wrong with it. Then I’ll just throw it out, sort of like a bad divorce. If it’s a white athletic sock, I’ll keep the leftover one, knowing that it will come in handy when another goes missing or gets damaged.
I just got some Nautica dress socks, and wouldn’t you know it, after the first wash, one of the new blue ones disappeared! Was it not happy in its new home, or did the smell of my feet after 10 hours in shoes prove to be too much that it had to escape, and leave its poor mate behind? Now I have to wonder if that lone blue sock is now planning its own escape from my sock drawer.
Will it jump out at me with some sort of sock screech and wrap itself around my neck until I pass out, and then slither down the hall in search of an open door? Will Daphne the cat try to catch it, or run away? Will it try to find its way to the basement and the dryer?
So here is an interesting thought; maybe the dryer is a portal to another world or dimension, where socks live in peace and harmony, with no fear of being put on stinky feet. I guess the only way to find out would be to get inside the dryer, turn it on and see what happens.
I know I can’t get inside since I’m to big. Do you think one of the kids would be up for this mad, little experiment? What setting do I have to use: fluff, medium heat or high heat? Would they suddenly disappear when the right speed and temperature was hit, or would they just scream to get out? I have a feeling my wife would object to this idea, so maybe I’ll try it with a stuffed animal first. If nothing happens then, I’ll just have to squeeze inside and hope for the best.
So please wish me luck on my missing sock quest, and if you read about a mysterious disappearance in New York involving a dryer, bow your heads, say a little prayer and wish me luck.
Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.
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