I felt like I needed resuscitating after almost drowning in the tsunami of socks that poured over my drawer. I'm not kidding when I say I discovered 56 pairs of socks in that one little drawer, which I find really disconcerting because I'm not actually sure if this is normal. Is it? If this is normal I now understand why sweatshops are called sweatshops. Not because they work in horrible conditions, but because they're forced to try on SO MANY pairs of socks before consumers can purchase them. I found it even more shocking when I realised that most of my underwear would better fit a food-deprived stick insect. (Just to reassure you though, this sock drawer hasn't actually been altered since I was about six.) So there I sit, burrowed among the nest of socks I decide for some reason to arrange in length order (ankle length, above-ankle length, above-the-above-ankle-length-that-can't-quite-reach-the-knee-so-you-have-to-awkwardly-roll-it-back-down-to-your-ankle-length, and knee length), when I dig out all the odd socks that have no partner. Apart from the disgust I express towards my wardrobe for losing them, it reinforces the age-old question which is:'WHERE THE HELL DID THE OTHER HALF OF THAT PAIR GO?'
I fear eHarmony would make a better investment in finding matches for socks instead of matches for other people. For one reason, they would almost certainly know what the odd sock's match would be without having to undergo a thorough investigation of the sock's interests and dreams, but then again, physically finding the sock's match would probably be a challenge. I can definitely see working for an odd sock dating agency as a career path, but for the time being I'll just grieve over the loss of yet another sock that won't be warming my foot, and place all those single socks in a box marked 'Odd Sock Box'.