It’s with a heavy heart that I’m sharing a very honest and personal problem that’s just becoming too big to hide. I’ve toyed whether to share my problem, mulling it over and over, how I’ll find the right words and the right time, but there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just jump straight out with it in the hope you’ll understand.
I’m an irresponsible sock owner.
There, I said it.
My reason for sharing is with the hope that other sock neglectors are out there may be able to offer advice or support, in what is now out of control and beyond any self-help therapy I’ve attempted.
I’m completely dumfounded as to how I ended up like this. At first it was just the odd one disappearing, here and there but now it seems I’m on a free wheel cycle to single sockdom without a brake in sight. I’m up an odd sock bound lake without a paddle and I’ve past the point of no return.
I can assure you that 97% of the time a matching pair go in the washing machine (the other 3% are ones I’ve tried to match through brand or pattern.) but something strange and unfathomable occurs in the machine that we’ve dubbed the sock muncher. There’s a secret cycle which magically changes the style colour and shape of every sock, toying with me, the chief laundry person and sock sufferer, while I try to pair up the family stash.
I’m desperate here, I tell you desperate. I’m a simple person (not that kind of simple) with simple needs and a desire for a matching pair of socks. It’s not too much ask for yet I seem to be lacking in basic sock maintenance.
If anyone can shed some light as to what happens between the socks going in the washing machine and those coming out I’ll be eternally grateful.
Until that time, I’ll just have to accept that this is what life is like, forever to be that woman in the soft play centre, wearing odd socks.