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Michael considered fate at 01:31   |   Permalink   |   Post a Comment

I did laundry today. The whites. My dirty undies. And lots and lots of socks.. if there is one thing more true than 20 coat hangers always come out of a closet where only two went in, then it is this: for every 2.78 loads of laundry there is a 1 in 2.78 chance that you will lose as many as 2.78 socks. Inevitably, however, these 2.78 socks are not of the same pair. If they were, if we could know for certain that every two lost socks would be mates, that every two socks that wander off into the deep unknown beyond the outer rim of the washer, out past the cylindrical swirl of the dryer, if we knew these two socks were soulmates then, cripes, good for them. I wouldn't even miss them. I'd continue on about my life as if nothing happened, as if I never even owned that pair of socks. Life would balance, the universe would makes sense, and equilibrium among the stars would be achieved. The tiny vibrations of energy throughout the galaxies would slowly settle, like a rubberband once plucked, and soon, everything would be frozen in time, perfect ying, perfect yang, equal in all rights, all things great and small completely content in the place, position, and direction they will be in.

Luckily, this doesn't happen and life continues on. A quick proof of the theorem: we are still rolling along, living, typing, breathing, moving. *Poof*. No equilibrium. Socks, it would seem, get lost by themselves. There are no tubes honeymooning off in Jamaica where I went this summer. There is no smart brown argoyles sunbathing in Santa Barbara. No no, life doesn't work this way - even for socks.

This particular trip to the laundry room netted me 2 more solos to the pile. The pile, currently, resides in the sock drawer as a large bound collection of single socks, each one desperately hoping it's long lost brother or sister will return someday. Surprisingly, like many beautiful loves stories, it does happen on occassion. This load there were 4 different lost souls (no pun intended) returned to their rightful partners. Two more were returned to, well, a partner. Perhaps not their rightful one but then, in the land of white tube socks, whose really counting? Nonetheless, there was a dirge of lost cotton this time around (I did a really big load) and we topped off at 14 singles now singing the song of the solo sock. This, ladies and gentlemen, sets a record, having easily beaten the previous of 12.

The old adage of college-rent bachelor's goes "if you buy nothing but white atheletic socks then there will never be a lost sock".. aha, touche. However, us of the more mathematically inclined will quickly beg to differ. As three is a crowd so an odd number of socks is a quandry. Irregardless of this little problem of arithmetic, there is more complication afoot. In this day and age of designer footwear the white tube sock just will not do in almost all of life's many social situations. On the court, tiny anklet atheletics are required as the tennis ball is batted across the net. On the pitch, the shin guards of a soccer mate must be matched to his sock and tucked in such that the tube must be a ten-incher, at least. Et cetera, et cetera. This whole problem of socks, it would appear, is not so simple.

I present to you a much more thorough and effective method of sock simplicity. It is quick and easy, painless almost, to implement. It speeds up not only the post-laundry matching sessions you undoubtably cringe at the thought of, but it also makes for a more interesting and varied life. Without further ado, it is this: Every sock pair that you purchase shall be no similar to any other sock pair in which you have previously purchased in so much as a fox is dissimilar to a lynx. More clearly, a fox is clearly not a cat and a lynx is clearly not a dog yet they, the lynx and the fox, are both wood creatures of the same category: four-legged mammals. Strive to maintain your sock collection as moses would a collection of four-legged mammals - two of each. This way, when you pull from the laundry pile one fox and one lynx you will know immediatley and without a doubt that these two socks, however much they are similar (for they are both socks), are clearly not a match. There will be no fine-comb apprasials of the stitch or fingering of the fabric quality to determine the match of two foot covers. Despite how oft it is heard "something stinks in here" and how often the culprit of this is a pair of sock, these are not criminals and they are not forensic evidence. This is not a DNA test. Hold to the light, compare color, compare strippage, compare length. If these three factors fail to fully forewarn of the fabrical faux-pas one would be committing if one were to wander into a public place with these two completely different socks on their feet, then the variety of your collection is suspect.

I urge you to give this matter some serious thought and certainly let me know if it's a system you find working out for you.