SCENARIO: You hike the dirty laundry down to the washing machine…in my case, down to the basement from the second floor. It’s not too big of a deal because I don’t have a gazillion clothes where I only have to wash every third month. I have the minimum amount of clothing required by law.
I load the darks… all of them… some even not-so-dark but, oh well, a little bit of shading never hurt a beige pair of pants before. Soap is in. Softner is in. Go!
After 45-minutes of washing, 20-minutes of drying, time to take the darks back up to where they started and, BOOM! There’s a dirty dark sock that I dropped on the way to the washer! You sneaky little @#$%! Staring at me… laughing at me… just laying their like a slug where you have been the entire time I was doing the rest of the laundry and other work around the house.
Now, I not only have a mismatched sock somewhere, I have to put you back in the laundry until the next load of darks. ( I have half of mind to throw you in the bottom of the laundry bin with a wet towel and sweaty underwear and make you suffer for the next 7 days.)
Hey sock, it ain’t bad enough that you escaped the water torture by trying to emulate goldfish suicide, but do you have to lay there and eyeball me? Why couldn’t you have just thrown yourself out in the middle of the road like the other single socks do so that I wouldn’t have even known you were missing, Ya Jagoff!
I have that exact same sock. Well, hopefully not the EXACT same sock.
I dread the missing sock. It always seems to fall out of the laundry basket. I think it’s ghosts.