What the fuck is it with socks?
In the course of a year I must buy about fifty pairs.
Every time I pass a shop that sells socks, i nip in a buy a bundle of the fucking things.
Whenever I buy them, I always go for the same socks. The same colour and the same material. Black. Cotton. Every sock I have bought in he last few years has been indistinguishable from the last. That way I can avoid that damned odd-sock. syndrome.
Will someone please explain to me why, when I open the airing cupboard to get a fresh pair of socks I am buried under a cascade of odd socks? There will be bright ones and dark ones. Socks with garish patterns on them. Socks that have shrunk so they wouldn’t fit a two year old. But do you think there will be a singe black cotton sock? Not a fucking chance.
Where the hell do they all go to? Somewhere in this house there are fifty pairs of black cotton socks, and I damned if I can find them.
And people wonder why I wander around with one bright pink sock and one bright yellow one.
I’m not eccentric.
I’m just the victim of a fucking conspiracy.