Well what an exciting evening I’m having: a committee meeting, half an hour of television and now I’ve just finished sorting socks. Yes, socks – straight out of the washing machine and dryer.
Putting them into pairs, I couldn’t help but notice how they seemed to mirror human relationships.
There were the nearly-new twosomes that some proud housewives probably put into the washing machine bound together with those little clips I’ve seen in magazines, so they always emerge in pairs. There were also some brightly coloured reds and greens; I couldn’t find the matching ones so I rolled them together anyway, on the basis that opposites attract.
A few years ago I resolved only ever to buy Apprentice Man one colour and design of sock. Hence as I pulled a dozen or so out together, they were easy enough to match up, though some looked a little worn or ragged compared to their partner and I’m sure one or two are shrinking.
The frustrating part however was when I was left with a pile of unique and solitary patterned items. Why is it that they go into my machines in pairs and innumerable tumbles later emerge as divorced items, their other half never to be seen again? Mind that may be better than the adventurous ones I find paired up with pillow cases or other unsuitable textiles; stick to your own kind – not those. You put them into the wash with their mate of several years and they go off with your old woollen jumper.
I have a friend who puts her socks into a net bag to wash them. That way they can never elope; a little like locking up your daughters for their own well being, I suppose. Maybe it’s got to be that or else knitted tights from now on!
Putting them into pairs, I couldn’t help but notice how they seemed to mirror human relationships.
There were the nearly-new twosomes that some proud housewives probably put into the washing machine bound together with those little clips I’ve seen in magazines, so they always emerge in pairs. There were also some brightly coloured reds and greens; I couldn’t find the matching ones so I rolled them together anyway, on the basis that opposites attract.
A few years ago I resolved only ever to buy Apprentice Man one colour and design of sock. Hence as I pulled a dozen or so out together, they were easy enough to match up, though some looked a little worn or ragged compared to their partner and I’m sure one or two are shrinking.
The frustrating part however was when I was left with a pile of unique and solitary patterned items. Why is it that they go into my machines in pairs and innumerable tumbles later emerge as divorced items, their other half never to be seen again? Mind that may be better than the adventurous ones I find paired up with pillow cases or other unsuitable textiles; stick to your own kind – not those. You put them into the wash with their mate of several years and they go off with your old woollen jumper.
I have a friend who puts her socks into a net bag to wash them. That way they can never elope; a little like locking up your daughters for their own well being, I suppose. Maybe it’s got to be that or else knitted tights from now on!
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