Socks may leave the store in pairs, but afterwards they resist togetherness. They go into the same wash, but somehow they separate and change. Once I purchased several identical pairs of socks all at once. By the fourth time they were worn ever pair had evolved into a uniquely different individuals.
Finding pairs that almost match irritates me, especially when I try to match the minute differences between black and navy After I began doing clothes for a family, I decided to fashion was not as important as my sanity. At the time, I had a couple of foster sons and two stepsons who all wore the same size of crew socks. I decided to have one color for each child.
It was the era of leisure suits in beautiful colors. I will not discuss who picked out the final color after we had seven pairs of blue, black and brown socks for three boys. I will only say that the fourth color chosen was a brilliant turquoise.
It was the easiest year of my life. I tossed blue socks on one child’s pile, black on another’s, brown on a third child’s and the brilliant turquoise on the fourth’s. My own son, still a toddler wore miniature white socks.
After that year, my stepsons insisted they did not want anymore turquoise socks. They preferred white tube socks.
Tube socks are socks with no heels. They fit the foot anyway one chooses. They are sold by the half-dozen with multi-colored stripes of blue, green, red, black and turquoise on the top.
I quit sorting socks.
I tossed every sock as it came out of the dryer into a basket. I hated sorting those things just so my family could walk around with feet that matched. (I went barefoot or wore nylons.)
Enter one father and husband to the rescue.
He likes to be coordinated.
He likes details.
It seemed like every Sunday morning my husband would come up sockless an hour before time to go to church. Grabbing the basket of socks he would sit down and cheerfully match up everyone’s socks for the week. As he sorted, the thought of creative ways to salvage the leftovers as puppets, toys or cleaning rags. I very creatively found ways to add them to the sack for the Salvation Army to the sell to the rag man.
With only a teenage son and daughter at home now, I sort socks. Well, sort of. I can see the difference between my husband’s black dress and work socks, my son’s white crew socks (Thank heavens! No more shapeless tubes) and my daughter’s plethora of colored socks. I toss them on each person’s stack. Black for the man, white for the boy, colors for the girl.
Me? I still don’t wear any socks. The ones I bought, I gave to my daughter. I told her she could have them as long as I can borrow them back – after she has carefully sorted and stored them in a row in her drawer, thank you.
My son actually bought dark dress socks for himself. However, I forgot they were his and tossed them on his father’s pile. So he’s back to borrowing his dad’s. I promised to buy him some when he packs to leave for college. It’s the only way I can ensure that he will leave with a matched set, all his own. And it’s a whole lot easier than trying to find lost mates the night before he leaves.