Every year or so I feel compelled to have a come to Jesus meeting with the sock drawer. It's not that I particularly want to, but I have to in order to exert some control over the particular breed of chaos that lies therein. It is anarchy, complete and utter anarchy. I mean, the sock drawer looks like a greek orgy at the best of times and a riot in the streets at the worst of times, certain argyle socks trying to escape out the side, for fear of being strangled by the white ankle sports socks that are angry and hate all the fancy argyles. So every once and awhile I feel compelled to bring peace and order to the inhabitants of Sockville. But I hate doing it because it never ends well.
This is how it usually goes; I finish all the laundry and put everything away. In the process of putting everything away, I look down at the sock drawer and sigh in resignation. I throw all the socks in the sock drawer onto the top of the dresser and start pulling the freshly cleaned socks from the laundry basket at the same time, playing the match game to the best of my ability. I look a sock over and realize that the hole in the heel is too big to wear ever again and set it aside, realizing that I'll have to perform last rights on poor Mr. Sockersons over there and possible his mate if I can find it. I start feeling sorry for the socks whose mate I can't find, because I realize that if I can't find the other sock, I'm going to perform last rights on them too, which feels horrible. I consider a viking funeral for the socks I must say goodbye to, since they were mighty warriors who performed honorably for Fighting Nun and myself. Then I finish unloading the laundry and do a tally of the remaining socks without partners. I then go into a bout of denial all "Oh, I'm sure I'll find the sock somewhere. Maybe it's in the last load or, maybe I stuffed it in a shoe, or Fighting Nun and I got into one of our sock wars (basically, Fighting Nun rubs his smelly sock in my face at the end of the day, and then I try to do the same back and then it just degrades into us throwing socks at each other for a full five minutes. Yes, we have a very mature relationship. How could you tell?) and the sock got traumatized and decided to hide from both of us after the affair, but maybe it's still around and I can pair it with the other sock. Maybe the sock trolls will return it. I'll tell myself anything not to throw away that poor sock without a mate. So I hold the partnerless socks back, all 'Maybe I'll find the other one of these days'. But then I'm paralyzed with indecision as to what to do with the remaining mateless socks. So the viking funeral is out, what do I do next? I can't just put them back in the drawer because I'll forget about their plights and how lonely it is out there in sockville for one sock and then they'll be all alone and bitter about being isolated. They won't have a purpose in life because you can't very well just put on one sock, I mean really. And they know that and they know they'll just be left alone in the sock drawer, never warn, never used again and then they'll get violent and angry at the other partnered socks and decide to take it out on them and they're part of the reason the sock drawer devolves into anarchy in the first place, that and the militant white sports socks with the little gold stiching at the toe. They really hate their lot in life.
But I can't just leave them on top of the dresser, because that's like having their situation being put under a spotlight, all 'I'm alone up here and without my sock lover and now that message is being broadcast to the entire room' and you just know that the panties in the half-open pantie drawer are all laughing and snickering in their schoolgirl tone of theirs all 'Did you see Beige Joe without his other sock? Tee Hee, that is sooo wrong. Now he won't have anyone to go with to the Sadie Hawkins dance.", because panties are cruel that way, and let's face it, thongs are cruel in a whole series of ways, they might as well be cruel in that high school popular girl way too. So leaving them on top of the drawer is out. Making sock puppets is a consideration, but who do sock puppets entertain in this day and age anyway? Well besides me, because having my own Robot Chicken Sock Puppet theater is pretty entertaining but I have no audience for it and the dog certainly does not get my jokes. I just don't understand how my sock puppet rendition of Pulp Fiction fails to entertain my dog.
So I put them back in the drawer, defeated and sad. I perform the last rights on one Mr. Sockersons with the heel hole and I look back in on the sock drawer mornfully, hoping a riot or an orgy doesn't break out for at least a few days. The argyles need peace restored for at least a little while. Poor argyles.