It's a sock revolution up in here y'all.
My life feels like it's become a series of annoyances revolving around what should be the simple act of finding two pieces of cloth in which to swaddle my feeties before I stick them into a shoe that a.) match and b.) don't have holes in them so big I could pretty much just pull them up and wear them like a garter belt if I wanted.
I'm taking back control of my life. I'm throwing out every single sock I own and starting over.
Why such a harsh and some might say, completely idiotic, response to a problem?
I'll tell you.
I swear to a talking avocado deity that every time I do laundry I end up in some sort of existential crisis about whether or not I live in an alternate universe where socks share the exact same properties as electrons, thus governed by the Heisenberg uncertainty principle can only be represented as an indistinct cloud rather than individual units as it's only possible to know how fast they are moving or where they are, but not both at the same time.
The fact that I can possibly have so many socks come out of the wash without a match is truly a mystery to which I have no answer. How is it that when I go to fold laundry only a third of the socks have a match and I don't even have the right amount to pair them all up? I'm pretty sure I didn't wear an odd number of socks this week. It's not like I got up in the morning to get dressed at any point and was like "Fuck it, today is one boot and one flip flop day at work". The socks coming out of the laundry should all have a match and there should be an even number of them, but for some reason which eludes all plausible explanation, this is not ever the case.
Not to mention half my socks seem to be generating spontaneous holes each week. What the butts is happening in my dryer that my socks come out missing the entire toe? Did I turn the knob one past permanent press and accidentally activate 'tumble with a fuck bunch of scissors' mode?
And you know what? I'd even take the socks without matches and the holes if it weren't for stranger socks.
On numerous occasions I've come across socks that I am absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent positive do not belong to me. Men's socks, women's socks, specialty socks designed for someone with a weird condition where they have hooves for feet, who knows what's coming out of there when I do laundry?
I swear to you on pain of death that I've pulled a children's sock from my laundry before. There are no children that live in my house. There are no children that visit my house. How the actual hell did I end up with a single green and white child size sock in my laundry? Is there somebody out there going around slipping children's socks into people's pocket at the grocery store so they come out in the wash and make them so angry they want to throw a carpet-bag full of bricks down a flight of stairs?
Listen, universe with your weird sock based form of practical jokes. I have enough problems without having four new unmatched socks that are now in my life forever whenever I do laundry. I'm sick of it.
Of course my tactic of 'get fed up every four to six months and go buy more socks' only makes things worse. It helps in the short term, sure, but inevitably the new socks just end up getting sucked into the hell vortex that apparently is my laundry routine, simply adding to it's power.
It's gotten to the point where I've decided to take a page out of old testament God's playbook. It's a page I like to call 'Fuck everything and start over'. Since I don't have the ability to purge the planet with a flood or drop an enormous goddamn rock from orbit on my laundry room, I've settled for a less flashy form of smiting. I went through my entire house and gathered up every sock I own, matched or unmatched and put them in one spot. This is what I came up with:
Now I'm not sure what a normal amount of socks for a single person to own is but I'm fairly certain this counts as too-goddamn-many. I have two feet, enough socks to wear a different pair every day for over a month and somehow still cant ever find two that match at the same time. Do you see now how dealing with this shit on a constant basis is ruining my life? That laundry basket is full. FULL. A basket that is supposed to have the capacity to hold enough clothing for at least a week (or in my case four weeks until I run out of pants I can no longer pass off as clean enough and have to do wash) is filled just with socks.
I went on amazon and purchased ten pairs of high quality wool socks. They came in today, ten pairs, twenty socks, all the same, all new.
Also apparently made in the USA, which I never noticed before, but explains why they were about twice the price of what a pair of socks should cost. 'Murica.
In an event. These ten pairs of socks are henceforth my only form of foot underwear. I will wear these, and only these ten pairs of socks in a rotation, until they wear out from age, I die, or the inevitable heat death of the universe arrives.
I feel like a man reborn.
Oh, and as for my old socks? I threw those fucks in the trash.