1 Thing

My most recent batch of laundry has made it abundantly obvious that I either a) put too many clothes in the washer at a time so they can't move around much, or b) my socks have an unnatural attachment to their mates. One way or the other, my various pairs of socks stay very close to each other when I'm fishing them out of the basket, post dryer.

Despite all the anecdotal sock-disappearing evidence, over the course of almost 4 years of living in my apartment, I've only lost 1 sock, and then only for the span of about 6 months.

The sock's mate sat, alone, on the head of a stuffed seal on my dresser patiently waiting for its missing mate to return. And eventually, without warning or any great epiphany, it did.

I have no idea why it or how it managed to return, but it did, and now I have a drawer full of pairs and a dresser topped with hatless animals.

When I write about socks do you assume (rightly) that it was a slow news day? Has the admission that I have stuffed animals on my dresser caused you to think my previous description of myself as a butch lesbian was perhaps overly masculine?