People always go on and on about missing socks, deliberating on where they went and if they’ll ever come back again. While that’s all well and good, I’m more concerned about the sock left behind, stripped from its twin and unable to function in a sock capacity… because, well, let’s be honest. Who wants to wear just one sock?
I try to put myself into their… socks… and imagine how they’re feeling, since I’ve yet to crack sock language and cannot ask them myself. They probably feel like a part of them has been torn away, since their twin, lover, comrade, friend has been torn from their side in a cruel twist of dryer fate. They probably hate their now useless state, forced into retirement at the prime of their knitting and tossed out like so much garbage or stuffed into the back of a drawer in the hopes that their mate will be found.
I never try to force them with another mate, or relegate them to bleach covered rags. (Not only would that insult them, it would make my rags jealous.) I treat them with all the respect and dignity they enjoyed in their paired states and make sure they know they’re still useful and loved.
So, I take care of my lonely lone socks. I build shoebox beds for them with soft dryer lint mattresses, gently rock them to sleep while telling stories about brave tube socks fighting athlete’s foot and put them into service as hand puppets for the puppet theater I perform at the park.
If you have a mateless sock, don’t give up on it as useless. Even a lone sock still has a heart of cotton and deserves our sympathy for losing a part of itself. Socks are apparel too.