Laundry. As inevitable as death, taxes, stress, disappointment, and the thousand other unavoidable foibles of life.
Heathenly is ranting about her broken washing machine, referring to it, in less colorful language, as a porcine fornicator. My machine, which by its size was made to wash the clothing of elves and pixies, is operational. The washing never ceases. Some days I wonder if I should quit my job and wash clothes full-time. (Of course, if I didn’t have a job I wouldn’t have to follow the societal norm of wearing pants. There would be far less clothing to wash. I think Heller wrote about something called a Catch-22.)
I have written about laundry, in the past. I try to manage my time, fitting in a load of laundry whenever possible. It’s the hanging and drying of said clean clothes that is problematic. During the unbearably hot summer months, garments need to be hung on the line before they ferment inside the machine. In the winter, during the dreary overcast weeks of January and February, clothing refuses to dry. Wearing wet underwear isn’t something I, or any dermatologist, would recommend.
The question I have about shi yi fu (washing clothes) is an age-old one: Why is there always a missing sock or two? How, can dirty clothing, put into a bin, transferred to the machine, washed, and dried, be missing essential pieces when it comes time to put it away?
When I had a dryer, I believed both the heat and spinning action of the wonderful energy-sucking device caused a riff in the time-space continuum, teleporting socks to an alternative dimension. Somewhere, in a parallel world possibly, there is a pile of my mismatched socks. Now that I am dryerless the missing sock phenomenon isn’t unknown. I still have socks without spouses.
Body, hamper, washing machine, line: It seems simple, only three steps. Yet, somehow, socks disappear. Is it my cleaning lady? During her weekly vigil does she snatch a dirty sock? I don’t begrudge her the garment, if she wants my soiled socks she obviously has issues I’d rather not confront. Have the roaches banded together in a stock-stealing confederation? Perhaps Chinese Gods or dragons have taken my socks as talismans? Are monks invading my abode, intent on using my socks as sacrificial objects?
It’s probably a Masonic conspiracy, those guys are behind everything. They have agents with keys to all our homes. When away, they sneak in, steal socks, and depart. It’s all part of their master plan to dominate the world through the international hosiery market.
Or, maybe I’m an absent-minded, organizationally-challenged housekeeper.
I can’t decide.
Masonic conspiracy. Definitely.
Jackie’s last blog post..Scrooged
OMG! That sock is sooo cool that I almost missed pondering Masonic conspiracies. Ooooo! I’m starting to think that David really had better not convince me to get a sex change ’cause I might go after you instead of him.
BONGO MIRROR’s last blog post..Funerals and Counting
I think it’s a mystery that will never be solved.
And that is as it should be. Mystery adds spice to life (and makes us buy new socks occasionally).
Bongo’s right. That is one cool sock.
Robin’s last blog post..A wintry day
I second Robin’s mystery comment.
And third the cool sock comment
Danae’s last blog post..The More You Know
I’ve always wondered where they go, too. I’ve spent countless sleepless hours tossing and turning wondering where the heck they go! If you figure it out, let me know so I can get some sleep, will ya?
Corina’s last blog post..My Lunch Conversation
Bongo, back off buddy, he’s mine! I mean that in a totally non-literal sense; after all, he does live in China. But still, I have the mates to everyone’s socks *wicked laughter*. No, really, I do. A kazillion years ago, I was riding on the back of my boyfriend’s motorcycle when a guy in the lane next to us kept trying to get my attention. At the next stop light, he yelled out that my socks didn’t match! “It’s OK!” I replied. “I have a pair at home just like them!” Ok, so I lied, it just seemed like the best short response. Darn, I wonder now if maybe he was flirting….. shoot, I hate missed opportunities. FTL, jen P.S. An independent, self-clothes washing man is a wonderous thing… my admiration grows.
If it was one of my people, all you’d have to do would be to look under the bed. Or whereever their stash was. Sometimes elves do nick stuff and try to get us in trouble. Do you have elves there?
thelittlefluffycat’s last blog post..So You Want To Be A Cat: Lesson 3—Hearing
OMG! Jenny…you made me laugh with the sock thing. I mean, the whole thing. From the wicked laughter to the end of the comment.
Anyway, I’ve decided against getting a sex change though I did have a weird adventure related to that today.
I think I should mention to thelittlefluffycat that I’m ever so more strongly thinking that I am one of your people even though I take goat form. I store my socks under my bed.
Also, I totally want that last blog post thing too. I saw it. I want it.
BONGO MIRROR’s last blog post..Funerals and Counting
The sock issue will always be one of Life’s great mysteries. Or at least it was, until Jen’s comment.
Baron von Rochester’s last blog post..Short Fiction
BD, please explain to Bongo and Jenny and the rest of your rabid admirers that you belong to me, moist underwear, socks and all.
Once, when I was tearing up old linoleum in a bathroom as part of a renovation, I found a pair of ancient jockeys wedged between the floorboards. I think socks and underwear crawl about looking for tiny holes to fit themselves through. Like bats, you know.
pmousse’s last blog post..Snow, Self-Control, Syncing
Good grief pmousse. I’m only joking. You know I have a monogamy fetish and I’m already attached to Pandemonic.
BONGO MIRROR’s last blog post..Morning Swim