socks

You can't imagine my sense of triumph.  Socks have been, shall we say, a growing problem.  I can never find any.  At least, I can never find any that match.  I have developed a bad sock-buying problem - think Marks and Spencers, think Target, think the alluring little rows of woolen footwear in On Your Feet in Santa Fe.  But.  They disappear.  So - this weekend - time for action.  I had a big shopping bag full of possibly paired, possibly orphan socks here.  I had a drawer full of them, too.  This, alone, might be enough to explain why I never seem able to locate more than three dissimilar ones in Los Angeles.  So I started to lay them out, match them up - and then!  I realised there was another plastic tub of them under the bed!  Brought here from NJ, I think.  So there have been many happy reunions.  Indeed, almost all my single socks have been paired up again.  Most of the rest have been sent off to sock-recycling - or at least, put in an Old Clothing bin together with a number of old t-shirts - apart from a handful (footful?) that I've kept in case I can, indeed, find their - oh, ouch - sole mate in LA.

This pathetic little episode raises more questions than I'd like it to do about inefficiency, chaos, procrastination, moving, and - let's blame them - cats whom may move things round in the night.  Moral of story - at least tuck socks together when one takes them off ...