The dryer is a magical appliance. True, it will dry the clothes 40 times faster than I can dry them by blowing on them, but this is not why I deem it remarkable. Nope. The […]
The dryer is a magical appliance. True, it will dry the clothes 40 times faster than I can dry them by blowing on them, but this is not why I deem it remarkable. Nope. The dryer is otherworldly because clothes I put in there go missing—namely, socks. But the dryer is also cunning. It claims its prey one sock at a time, thus propelling me to believe that the missing sock is somehow my error. I must not have put both socks in there. One must still be in the dirty laundry. Apparently, my son is taking lessons from the dryer. I must not have put both socks on him. How could one be missing? Because, clearly it’s not my sanity in question.
Between the dryer and my son, The Kid is “Punky Brewster-ing” it most days. Walking down the street, he has one blue sock and one white sock. No, he is not supporting a baseball team. And no, he’s not trying to start some sort of fashion trend. His mom just can’t seem to keep track of The Disappearing of The Socks.
“Honey, have you seen his socks?” my husband asks me.
“Have you looked in the Pack and Play?”
The Pack and Play—where mismatched socks go to die.
“He must be taking them off them off when we aren’t looking,” I tell him, “because where else would they go?” Clearly, it’s not my sanity that’s in question.
My husband gives me an agreeable grunt as I watch The Kid shake socks like he’s shaking maracas in a mariachi band—or like he’s Charo. So, it’s not that we don’t have socks. We do. Mounds and mounds of them, in fact. It’s just that none of them seem to match one another, and I can’t figure out where the other of the pair is going.
I find myself checking the dryer (again), and looking in the diaper bag, and in his dirty clothes (again), and in my dirty clothes, yet there’s not a surviving sock in sight. WHERE ARE ALL THE PAIRS OF MATCHING SOCKS?! Clearly, it’s not my sanity. Maybe it’s the dog.
“OK, Honey, we are ready to go!” I yell to my husband.
“Where’s his other sock?”
“Really?! I just put those both on him. I laid them on the table and then …”
And there it is.
Still laying on the table.
“Honey, did you put both socks on him?” my husband asks.
I don’t know.
Yes, it is my sanity that’s in question.