This does not explain the mystery of the universe that loses individual socks some place between the laundry basket and the washing line. I have heard about this strange phenomenon, but have no first hand experience. Well, I do if you include the time when I was a teenager and it was apparently one of my socks that got stuck somewhere in the washing machine gubbins, breaking it in the process. I did not do this deliberately; thankfully, my mum will not read this so will not get another chance to revisit that story and recall how much the callout cost.
This is about matching up socks, all black of course, but from different manufacturers so slightly different. They sort of look alike, but they are not. Some have got a slightly cashmere feel to them, fake cashmere though, and others feel finer, more cotton-like, although I am sure they contain no cotton.
Some do have quite distinctive tops, maybe a bit of internal stretch stitching that let you match them up. At least with those ones, you can get them the right way out. Most just look the same either side, and it is impossible to decide whether they are the right way round or inside out. The only clue is the toe seam, and short of getting a magnifying glass out (now there’s an idea), it is difficult to find the more pronounced side of the seam which should be inside.
It is a Herculean task whether the socks are wet or dry. Attempts to sort them when wet have been futile as I have forgotten that they have been sorted previously, and pile them all up together for a second sorting.
Should I start to buy socks in different colours for easy matching and to save this post-laundry waste of time? But I don’t want grey socks or navy socks. I only like black socks. Black knee length socks that are becoming more difficult to source as there is a retail movement towards short socks. John Lewis is currently the preferred supplier as M&S don’t like long black socks any more, Primani’s long black socks fall down and Boots’ long bamboo socks are not exactly what I call decent quality.
For the amount of time wasted trying to play The Krypton Factor sock matching game, you’d think there were twenty pairs to sort. I am not given to exaggeration, but these four pairs of socks drive me to distraction. I sometimes take a little break half way through to maintain my sock sanity.