Ever wonder what the one sock that always goes missing thinks about?
I do. Here’s a totally real letter he left me in my sock drawer the other day:
So, uh, yeah, how you doing? I’m a sock, and I’ve been separated from my twin for about three years. It’s not easy, you know, getting all the blame. What am I talking about? I’m talking about how I’m blamed for going missing, like I did it on purpose or something. What gives? I mean, it ain’t my fault that I’m carelessly dumped into a washer, callously thrown into a dryer, then cold-heartedly dropped to the ground. If you’re not paying me no mind, where else am I supposed to go?
There I am, cast off to the cold floor like a criminal. What do people say nowadays? Smh? That means shaking my head, right? Well, I’m shaking my head, you’d best believe! While I’m lodged between an old coffee pot and a Tupperware lid, I have to hear “Why does my sock always go missing?” Maybe it’s ‘cause you don’t know how to look, ever consider that? Really think about it here, how on Earth am I supposed to call out, “Hey, I’m down here Sherlock” when I’m a sock?
When I was younger, I used to hear stories about “missing” socks, scoff and say to myself “Self, that ain’t never gonna be you.” I should’ve known better. You know what they have now? Those “cutesy” little signs with those pegs that read “Lost Socks: Looking for my Sole Mate”. Are they serious? And talk about bad puns. That was tearable…get it? Haha. Now that’s a pun! I mean, come on. I couldn’t be found if I was between a sock and a hard place…gimme that one.
Maybe I’m being a little too harsh though. I mean, washing clothes can’t be too fun, what with all the adding soap and folding and what not. You know who’s really to blame here? The dryer. It’s a monster. Ever been in a dryer? Can’t explain it myself, but if my owner were here, she’d quote “Doctor Who” and say somethin’ like, “…actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey … stuff.” One trip in the dryer and you’re lost.
And you know, that’s the main thing I’m always coming back to: why am I “lost”? You know what’s really lost? Keys. Now that gets lost. And reading glasses. And change! I can go on for a while, but you get the point. Those things go missing and it takes a while to find them, but me? I ain’t never gonna be found ‘cause no one is looking for me. My owner expects me to just show up. Well that’s not happening in this lifetime. Not until someone can admit that they’re lost and I’m looking.
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