Socks Appeal

Picture from

Picture from

Migraine stops play. A repost ….

There must be a scientific law which governs socks, specifically.

Each belongs with an identical twin, does it not? Β And yet it seems to me that, contrarily, that like socks repel.

A few minutes ago, I sorted through the sock drawer which is supposed to jealously guard the family’s hosiery. I lined up a long parade of about twenty socks.

There was a little blue sock, a big black sock, a sock with an orange heel and “Monday” emblazoned on it; and a sock named “Friday” with a purple toe. There was a frilly pink sock and a shocking pink ankle sock.

None of them matched any of the others.

Every day is a new episode in the battle to keep my children’s feet sheathed in wool and cotton. Yet while I usually manage to win the battle and bring these evasive little garments together for one day at least, I have yet to come anywhere close to winning the Sock Wars.

Today I scrabbled as usual, but almost lost the Sock Wars for good.

I had almost completed my sock-to-sock combat for the day: my children were catered for sock-wise; my husband had found some from somewhere; but I could find only one.

Having rooted everywhere it was possible to root, including my husband’s sock drawer, the dog’s basket and the back of the bedroom sofa, I finally ran one to ground. It did fit: but it was suspect in size. A little small.

There is a particularly barbaric version of Cinderella which addresses the business of big feet. It is the original Grimm tale, Grimm by name, and Grimm by nature.

For the purposes of this exercise, we join Cinderella the morning after the ball. Prince Nice-But-Dim has hit on the perfect way to find the petite woman with whom he danced the night before. Not for him, a glance at the stunning face which must have been so memorable as they waltzed across the glittering dance floor.

No, he will find the woman whose foot fits the golden shoe .

I must brush away images of our august British prime minister and his inestimable decision-making powers as I weigh up the effectiveness of this fairytale powerbroker’s methods.

It could be said that what this Prince does not know about women is a lot.

Of course, the majority might line up obediently and have their feet measured in the hope that even if their face doesn’t fit, their feet might.

But there is bound to be that minority who would try by any means, no matter how drastic, to subvert the system.

At the Cinderella residence all is industry as the golden slipper is brought to the household for fitting. The eldest sister scurries upstairs. Out of sight it will be much easier to cram a quart into a pint pot.

But no matter how she pushes and shoves, it is to no avail. The big toe is the sticking point. So her mother offers some helpful, if vitriolic, advice.

I know, she says: just chop off your toe. When you’re a princess you won’t need it, because, you see, you will never have to go anywhere on foot anyway.

I said it was Grimm.

The daughter does exactly as she is told, forces on the golden slipper and hobbles downstairs in some discomfort to claim her prince.

It is a pigeon who eventually sounds the alarm. The Prince has clearly bypassed the fact that she looks completely different, has already put the macabre woman on his horse and is off to the castle with her.

The pigeon sings a little warning song and the Prince looks down and sees blood running out of the shoe. Erk. Back to the house for a rematch.

But: back to the santitsed 21st century present. I must find a way of harnessing the power those tiny garments have to fling themselves to disparate parts of our universe.

Time to invent magnetic socks.


39 thoughts on “Socks Appeal

  1. what you need is one of those ‘washing bags’ hung where people take off their socks, they just pop them all in, zip the mesh bag closed and put into washing machine, and voila, at least 50% of the socks have a twin.

    hope the migraine goes away like a lost sock

  2. On the amputation theme: there is a famous Austrian rock climber who lost both legs in accidents. He had artificial legs made to his own design, all of different lengths, so he could put on whichever combination of legs was most suitable for the rock face which he was climbing. The range of legs hung from his belt, and he painted them in wonderful colours and patterns. Of course, in this real life fairytale, a “fairy entrepreneur” suggested that he make socks with the same patterns as those on the false legs. He is now a very rich sock magnate with no feet.

  3. The violent colour-coding in the picture seems to be a good idea. I have too many similar socks which only show that they are a mismatch when worn.
    Versions of the Cinderella tale which seem a tad more credible are the ones which have the ball as a masked one, and instead of unmasking at midnight C does a runner. Slips out and slips out of slipper.

  4. I have only three kinds of socks, Gold Toe black dress to the knee socks, Thorlo running socks and Gold Toe ankle sports socks. No confusion other than matching up the faded black dress socks with the other faded black dress socks.

  5. I hope that migraine abates asap, Kate.
    I just found one of grandson’s Ezra’s baby socks on my way down to the basement. Made me miss him all the more. Sigh.

  6. MTM recently bought navy socks to go along with his black socks. Those dang things are so hard to match up. He is forever wearing one navy and one black.

    I hope you feel better quick, Kate. Migraines are the pits.

      1. Nooooooo. The same socks will do. Black. And black. And black.

        But you and Phil need to use BA to fly to Charlotte, and we can pick you up for a visit. Maddie and Felix too, of course.

  7. Here’s hoping your head feels better right away.
    I think that socks do make a run for it, but I don’t know why they don’t take their partners. Is one sock loyal to the owner and the twin sock a rebel? Does one pair ever just disappear? No, not in my experience. Maybe every single sock should just be black or white and look exactly the same. Earrings do funny things like that, too.

  8. Sorry about the Migraine. Great re-post. I cracked up when I saw the title. From my post today:

    Step 12 ~ A watched rind never cools. Organize your sock drawer by color, height, and remaining elasticity. Stop kidding yourself that unmatched pairs are going to return some day. They are gone. Get over it!

  9. I’m always sorry to hear about your migraines, and to realize how debilitating they are! Through the years I have personally never solved the problem of mismatched socks, or where they go when they disappear. It’s one of life’s many mysteries. πŸ™‚

  10. Get well soon, Kate. Alas, I know very well how it is to have serious migraine attacks. I hope you at least are having the medical help that is possible to get.

    As for socks, I think I have tried every trick in every de-clutter’s work book, it would make a funny post, but the result is still mismatched feet. I think some of the members of our household think this is done by purpose….I am glad we are staying in California this year so I don’t need any socks. By the way, the borrowers use them as sleeping bags, but there are no way they are using all the socks that disappear so that is only part of the answer.

    1. Thanks, Solveig. The head seems to have abated. And now I am considering a move to California. I had never thought of the No Socks angle before! Imagine: a life without socks!!

  11. That is a very Grimm tale indeed, but I’m sure small children love that sort of thing, and wouldn’t be put off by the blood. πŸ™‚
    Hubby used to wear only black socks, and it was the devil’s own job to match up the short one, the very short ones and the longer ones. A couple of weeks ago, we bought a pack of 7 pairs, each with different coloured toes and heels, ranging from shocking pink to sky blue. This works really well, but they do look rather strange with sandals.

    1. Thanks! It has faded….your colourful socks intrigue me. We bough socks labelled Monday to Sunday and I ended up sending Felix in with one foot labelled Wednesday and the other Saturday. On a Tuesday.

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