As a mom of two busy teens and a, um, how shall I say it, slightly scatter-brained tween, not to mention wife of a computer-geek kind of guy, and a pretty organized person in general, I pride myself on what my family views as my insider’s knowledge. Seems moms worldwide are the keepers of this knowledge: “Honey, where is my…?” and “Mom, have you seen my…” are familiar refrains in my household and millions of others. In fact, just the other day my hubby asked where he might find his painstakinly hand-colored topographical map of a favorite hiking area, one I haven’t seen in years. And my 13-year-old awakened me from a deep sleep to discover the whereabouts of her sister’s sleeping bag. Both items were needed for a trip they were taking the next day. And both items were uncovered in minutes instead of hours thanks to my guidance.
With all this insider’s knowledge, however, one mystery remains and dogs my every attempt at organization: where do all the lonely socks go? I’ve searched high and low: reached under dust ruffles, riffled through dress-up boxes, rubbed hands inside pants legs, even (almost) ripped open the dryer vent, all in an effort to bring peace to my days and an end to this endless search.
This question is not mine alone, for entire industries have grown up around this enigma. LittleMissMatched is a company that earned $32 million in 2008 by selling three-packs of socks THAT DON’T MATCH! They even highlight the plight of lost socks with a Lost Sock Memorial Day on May 9th each year (is it merely coincidence that this is my “I-can’t-find-my-sock” tween’s birthday? I think not!).
Of course, no one really needs to spend a penny to be in style these days if all you have to do is wear mismatched socks. If you’re like me, you already have a large pile to choose from each day; at last count, my pile of lonely socks topped 20! They may not be as colorful and clever-looking as the ones from the store, but at least they won’t be lonely anymore. And if their match ever does miraculously show up? Ha ha ha…well, we all know that will never happen. So if you see me walking around this week with one crew sock in blue stripes and one no-show in purple polka-dots, just nod your head and think to yourself, “Those are two less lonely socks in this world thanks to Tanya.”