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All of it started on a normal day when I had to do laundry. I was looking forward to it like a cat on bath time. Taking my over-full laundry basket to the washer, I was ready for the normal routine of rinse, spin, and tumble. One of the loads included my socks, a reliable pair that had been on my feet for many chores and lazy weekends. I thought that.
The first sign of treason was when I took the laundry out of the washer. One sock was all by itself in the wet mess of T-shirts and leggings. Its partner, my favorite right sock, wasn’t to be found. I looked into the drum of the washing machine like a police officer looking at the scene of a crime.
I said to myself, “Okay, it’s probably stuck to something.” I carefully took out each item of clothing one at a time and shook them as if I were doing some weird laundry exorcist. The sock wasn’t there, though.
I had gone from being confused to a slight panic by the time I loaded the dryer. I had a lot of ideas going through my head. Had I lost it on the way? Was it stuck to the walls of the washing machine? It could have also gone into “the sock void,” which is an unknown abyss.
I went up to the dryer when it buzzed with the cautious hope of someone opening a box that says “Schrödinger’s Cat.” The soft, warm clothes fell out and smelled like lavender and deception. Still no sock. Its partner, the left sock, lay there sad and looking at me like a lover who has been…
