Fellas, you know how sometimes socks go missing (or at least seem to go missing) in the laundry? Weird, huh? Or is it all part of a sinister plot?
On The Red Pill subreddit, one concerned fella warns his comrades that laundry-doing females maybe losing your socks on purpose, for some nefarious female reason we may never understand.
[H]oly shit, can chicks wash a pair of socks without one disappearing into a parallel dimension never to be seen again?
Little shit I know. But I’ve spent the bulk of my life as a single guy in his own pad. NEVER had the missing sock issue, could always find my shit. It’s not hard to do, being organized, so this leads me to think the whole thing is a woman’s mind game designed to test you.
They are devious, these human females.
H/T — Cloudiah
I’ve got at least ten missing socks right now, but I’m washing and folding for six right now so that works out to less than 2 per person, which I feel is not doing too bad for an unpaid laundress.
Personally I think part of the problem is that I’ll periodically throw away a holey or threadbare sock without tracking down the less-damaged mate to send with it. So then the less-damaged mate comes through the cycle and hangs around on top of the dryer in a long futile wait. Sad, really.
In the middle of the night, Lucy quietly crept out of her bedroom, careful not to wake her sister. The stairs of the mansion were old and creaky, but nights of practice allowed Lucy to sneak down with only the smallest of squeaks. Carefully, she made her way around the empty rooms and gathered the required materials into a small basket.
Cargo in tow, Lucy stepped carefully back up the stairs, and to the room where the wardrobe stood. She opened the doors, grabbing a thick woolen coat and some heavy boots before heading deeper. The brush of fur and smell of mothballs quickly gave way to the scratch of pine and smell of cold and snow, and soon Lucy found herself once again approaching the lamp post.
Aslan was waiting for her, his great golden mane shining bright in the lamp light. His fur was speckled with snow, and Lucy suspected he had been still for quite some time. Aslans eyes were locked on hers as she trudged through the snow towards him. When she drew quite close, Aslan closed his eyes and drew backwards onto his haunches, shaking himself and flinging snowflakes in all directions.
“Ah, Lucy, daughter of Eve, you have returned,” he said.
“Yes, Aslan, I’m back.” Lucy responded. “I apologize if I’ve kept you… it’s frightfully cold out.”
Aslan said nothing. Lucy realized he was probably fine with that thick mat of fur.
“Oh, right, I brought everything you requested.” She presented the basket to Aslan. The enormous lion strode forward, his head massive compared to the little girl in the oversized fur coat.
“Open the basket, if you would, daughter of Eve,” he growled.
Oh right, Lucy thought to herself, lions don’t have hands. She set the basket down on the snow and opened the flaps, revealing a pile of multi-colored socks.
“I wasn’t sure what you meant, Aslan, so I just grabbed a little of everything. I hope… its…” Lucy faltered. The giant animal was simply staring at the open basket. Lucy was feeling sillier by the moment. Aslan certainly was the secretive type, always knowing much more than she ever had or ever would, but what in the world could he want with everyone’s stockings?
“Umm… May I ask a question, Aslan?”
The great lion said nothing.
“What… what are they for?”
Aslan did not respond. Instead, he slowly leaned his head in, opened his jaws, and grasped the whole pile in his teeth. Suddenly, he threw his head back, tossing socks high into the air in a cloud of red, green, and grey. Stockings fell like snowflakes onto the forest floor, and Aslan loosed a roar that echoed into the night. He leaned back onto his haunches, muscles rippling, and lept high into the air. throwing powder all around as he landed. Again and again he lept, pouncing onto the tiny articles of cloth, batting them up into the air and landing heavily on them again.
Lucy was shocked at the normally stoic beast’s antics at first, but soon she couldn’t help but laugh. She reached down and grabbed one of her brother’s stockings and threw it as high as she could into the air. Aslan followed the article of clothing carefully, tensing his body before lifting high off the ground to catch it in midair.
The two frollicked in the snow through the night, until both were left lying in the snow gasping for breath. Fabric was scattered everywhere, lying in tatters from Aslans claws and teeth. Birds twittered in the morning air, and both enjoyed their song until Aslan spoke.
“Thank you, daughter of Eve. These ‘socks,’ as you call them, are the most enjoyable things I have witnessed. And you say you wear these wonderous creations?”
Lucy giggled. “Of course we do, they keep our feet warm.”
Aslan made a deep rumbling noise, that could almost be mistaken for purring. “I see. I apologize for making such a mess. What shall you tell your family when they notice they are missing?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lucy replied, “apparently stockings go missing all the time in the laundry. I don’t think Mrs Mcready will suspect anything.”
“Good,” Aslan said, and made that deep rumbling noise again. “I have heard rumors of something called ‘yarn.’ Next time you visit this realm, could you bring some of this ‘yarn’ to me?”
Lucy laughed at that. “I suppose next you’ll want me to bring some tuna and a rubber mouse.”
“Whatever for?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Not a picture, but the best I can do.
I practice social justice sock matching.
….al colors can come together in perfect harmony…
Not only do I steal single socks, sometimes I’ll put lint in the net! MUHAHAHAHA!!
Whenever a missing sock turns up, sometimes after weeks or months of hiding inside a fitted sheet, I always sing “Reunited” by Peaches & Herb as I pair it back together with its mate. It’s very satisfying.
I had to teach one of my male friends how to bake cookies (from a mix–the kind you add butter and eggs to) in college. Step one: borrow electric mixer from dorm supervisor (I forgot what they called them–they were recent grads who ran the dorms). Step two: try to explain the difference between smearing raw egg everywhere in the kitchen (bad) and eating freshly-made cookie dough (very safe and yummy).
I forgot step one the next year, when I ended up having to make shortbread cookies sans electric mixer because I’d volunteered thinking we had one.
Cats and Yarn PSA: yarn is not a safe toy for cats. If they swallow a length of it, it can fuck up their intestines, which requires surgery, which sucks for the cat (cause sick) and you (because it will probably costs at least $500 bucks if not more.)
I break into men’s houses and steal their socks because my misandry makes me delight in freezing cold man toes.
One of the most embarrassing things I have ever been asked by a roommate was, “You had to teach yourself how to clean, didn’t you?”
…I actually hadn’t, but I said I did, just because I was so ashamed that my cleaning skills were so obviously shitty. (And I do clean things! I scrub and shit! I guess I’m just… not very effective at it. Or something.)
At least now I am able to do things like an adult, even if I’m weird or idiosyncratic in how I do them. Laundry at least was never a problem! (We DID pick up most cooking after adulthood, though.)
@kirbywarp, That was awesome. It definitely created all kinds of pictures in my head!
kirbywarp, please accept this solid gold internetz with added kitties, lions, socks and bonbons. That was AMAZING. I am crying with laughter.
Wow Kirbywarp. You have an amazing gift for writing. I hope you write more. 🙂
I loved The Chronicles of Narnia as a kid. The ham-fisted religous metaphors and racism and sexism went straight over my head, so I was just enjoying the magic talking lions and sword fights. Now I’m haunted by C. S. Lewis’s pithy, smug quotes plastered over the T buses.
One says “God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn.” as an ad for a church. Every time I see it, I want to write “Come eat some Jesus!” underneath.
So yeah, much disappointment.
*blushes* Thanks, everybody! I really should write more… There’s a fantasy world I’ve been building for a while, and have written a couple really short stories in… I should go back to it.
Kirbywarp… that is amazing and awesome and I love it so much.
RE: kirbywarp
Every time I see it, I want to write “Come eat some Jesus!” underneath.
Insert transubstantiation joke here, says hubby.
I only lose my husband’s socks. All of mine are exactly where they should be. MISANDRY!
kirbywarp, that warmed my little heart! And sock loving Aslan is just…*melts a little bit* Here are some chocolate covered frozen strawberries!
Relating to the post: Whaaaaaaaaaaat? This is someone trolling, right? I mean, who would bother stealing socks? What, is that their idea of gaslighting? ‘Where are my socks?’ ‘I washed them. You must have misplaced them.’
I told my mom that there was a goblin that ate socks when I was a kid. She thought that was very funny. My brother was less amused, but I think he thought the goblin would sneak into his room at night and nip the socks off his feet.
So I suppose some mysterious sock-obsessed ninja lady must be sneaking into my apartment and stealing exactly one sock every once and a while? Because I do my own laundry and nobody else lives here, or even visits regularly.
…or it could be that socks tend to get caught inside the stretchy elastic-ish corners of my bed cover thing (I honestly don’t know what the “official” name for this is) during the washing/drying process and I sometimes just don’t find them for a while, especially if I don’t immediately put that set of bedsheets on the bed after drying them. Yeah, it’s probably that one. XD
I remember doing laundry at the housing co-op at university. Another housemate’s bed sheets had gotten mixed up with mine. I held up one set and asked casually, “do your sheets have bloodstains?” “No!” he replied with some trepidation. “Oh, then these are mine.”
Nosebleeds, but he didn’t need to know that. Now that I do laundry for my family, I have a drawer for orphaned socks. Every time I find another one, I check against the previous ones. Amazing how often there’s a match. But then, my parents believed that all the kids should be able to do all of the chores, so I knew about doing laundry before I got to high school.
Oh my gosh you guys, thank you so much! ;_; Aslan frolicking in the socks totally made my night.
My best missing sock story was on our first trip to London. We went to a laundrette near our flat, had everything sorted … but somewhere there, one of my socks disappeared. Yes, it had come with us, yes, everything had been transferred from washer to dryer. But one sock never came out again. I even climbed into the dryer to see if it could have been caught anywhere. Never did solve that mystery.
However, its mate went on to be Socko, Hadji’s favourite toy ever.
Yeah, my first week of Uni two lost-looking guys called round the girls floor to find out how much washing powder to use. I admit to not knowing the volume of the big washing machines, but I managed to do my own washing without asking for help. And drip-drying simulated using an iron (which we didn’t have) very well.
“First they came for the socks.
And I didn’t speak up, for I am not a sock.“
Get some large safety pins (diaper pin size), and pin your socks together when you take them off and put them in the laundry. Wash them, pinned together. Dry them pinned together. Put them away pinned together. When you are fumbling in the early morning, you can grab one sock, and the other comes with it. Just put the pin in a safe place, until you’re ready to take the socks off.
Of course, you can lose a whole pair of socks…
Also, this reminds me of Ray Stevens’ song “Where Do My Socks Go.” He claimed to lose his OWN socks, so it’s not just evil wimminz.