A couple of weeks ago I caved and threw away my single sock collection.

Amongst my husband’s numerous, different enough to not be a match, Gold Toe black socks there were sweet infant socks, white Hane’s athletic socks, and my beautiful green argyle sock.

I never even wore the green argyle socks.

I remember seeing them at The Gap, on the 3 for $75 rack (okay, more like $20, but still. That much for socks?). I found two other pairs to get the deal and headed home a happy woman.

Dutifully I removed the sticky band, avoided clawing the undersides of my fingernails while prying up the metal clip that holds socks together, and bit the short plastic tag where the hanger resided.

(Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard to get socks out of their packaging? Do that many people shoplift socks? Or maybe these are preventive measures because shops are plagued with missing socks as well? Anyway…)

My beautiful green argyle socks went in the washer as a pair and emerged as single as a contestant from the Bachelorette (too soon? okay, how about a cat lady?).

I never even got a picture of them.

—————

Flash forward to tonight.

After shielding my head from falling storage containers, I decided it was time to organize that horrid shelf.

I was shocked, but mostly annoyed, with what I found.

too many tops

What?

I checked the sink and dishwasher – no bottoms for these multiple tops.

How is that even possible?

Does Tupperware suffer the same black hole fate as socks?

I can’t bring myself to throw away all those tops.

I just know as soon as I do, I’ll find my other beautiful green argyle sock.

Advertisements