Maybe I didn’t love them enough. Maybe they had harsh experiences in the dryer. I don’t know, but my socks are criminals. All of them.
The red ones, they like to murder my laundry. Every time I think it’s safe to finally put in a load of whites, there they are just waiting for me to turn my back and quietly sneak into the washing machine while I’m not looking. I stopped buying red socks years ago and threw them all out. But sure enough they came back. Each and every one of them to brutally murder my poor white shirts. There’s a pile of pink carcasses in my room. They were so young!
The black ones, they’re the escape convicts. They magically disappear every time I do my laundry. Six will go in, only five will come out. At first I thought the poor guy got lost. But after more disappearances I was sure they were making a break for it. What could they be running from? Were they not happy with me? Do my feet……..smell?
Whatever it is, I’m certain all my missing socks have made their own little civilization somewhere. Probably with other socks, maybe yours. They probably tell each other stories of their past. I just hope they’re happy.