The phenomenon of the unmatched socks

I can't believe I'm blogging about socks.  Again.  I blogged about the reunion with missing socks here and I mentioned the Mt. Everest of unmatched socks here.

It's the latter on which I'd like to expound.  You might think it's a bit of an exaggeration to claim to have a mountain of unmatched socks.  Fine.  I have a molehill of unmatched socks on my dryer.  But even a molehill of unpaired socks is too many!

On Monday night, I decided I was fed up with the socks atop the dryer.  Surely there were matches in that pile.  I trudged with the armful into the living room where I carefully laid out every single one of those tiny socks (and about six not-so-tiny ones).  I was able to match up half a dozen of them.  I was left with this -

You can count them.  There are 43 unmatched socks.  I know we're a household of five and all, but it almost seems unconscionable to own that many matching socks, let alone have that many singles floating around. 

So I did what anyone would have done in that situation, I looked in all of the possible single-sock locations - under the crib, under the beds, between the washer and dryer, behind the washer and dryer, under the nightstands, in the sheets.  I came up with five socks.  Only one of them matched another in the pile.  Two of them matched each other.  So I actually netted two more singles.  Nice.

Sam says to pitch them.  My head tells me that I should.  My heart is telling me not to give up on those poor, single socks.  Their mate could be out there waiting for them - somewhere.  For now, they're all still on the floor...providing entertainment for an eleven month old.

Tomorrow, I'll probably put them back on top of the dryer in hopes of finding their mates someday.  When that happens, I will have a joyous reunion with them that will no doubt go a little something like this -

In the meantime, I should probably consider stocking up on some of these thingies.