I know I put you and your friend in at the same time.
I know for certain there were no hiccups in the transfer.
I know this.
I would bet my life on this.
When the cycle ending signal shouts, I open the dryer and peer into the gaping hole.
I have such confidence in myself that everything I put in will be coming out.
I take a deep breath each time I reach in.
I pull out matching socks, pair by pair.
I begin to breathe a sigh of relief, but then I see you.
I see one lone strip of multi-colored fabric lingering in the corner.
My face fills with red, my hands shake.
Not again! I lament. No, not again!
Where has your mate gone? My question echoes into the bare dryer vortex.
I frantically search my laundry basket looking for the match.
I check the insides of pants, the sleeves of shirts. I turn everything inside out and upside down.
How could this be? I shout to my pile. Where are you hiding?
I took such care, such responsibility with this load of laundry, and yet, I have failed the sock community and myself once again.
Oh, you poor lost lonely sock, where have you gone? What alternate universe have you slipped away to?
Were you sucked into some black hole within the inner workings of the dryer? Have you been incinerated? Did you simply get up and slink away? Did you not enjoy your duty of keeping my right foot warm and cozy? Did you not feel at home in my top drawer?
I am sorry for my ignorance, for my lack of care. I am sorry for the times I walked outside without covering you with a shoe. I am sorry you had to share a drawer with my underwear.
You must know that you were one of my favorites. We had so many good times together. My toes yearn for your soft fibers. I cannot bring myself to wear your match without you.
He misses you so, your match. He speaks of you often and fondly. I attempt to calm him, but no comfort is as strong as yours. He lies in the corner of the top drawer with the other unmatched socks. They lie together and shiver. They refuse to be folded together. They only want their matches.
Here’s to you lost sock, and here’s to all the lost socks. We know not where you end up. But, please know, we think of you often. It frustrates our intelligence that we are unable to keep all of our socks together through such simple transactions. It is simply a human error that we cannot seem to figure out.
May you rest easy in your black hole of lost socks.
One response to “An Ode To The Missing Piece”
I haven’t lost a sock in years, I bought a lingerie bag that zips and that’s where our socks go….😋