In Pursuit of an Organized Life

. . . putting life in order

Folding Socks

I hate folding socks. A sea of socks of different socks in a pile. You sort and search and think you find a match—-no it is 2cm shorter. Oh wait—–here it is. . . No the pattern is different. Oh here is the match!!! Success!!!! WAIT hold on—-there’s a hole in it.

It takes longer or at least feels longer than many chores. There is always a pile of similar, but unmatching orphan socks. Do I throw them in the laundry and hope it finds its match in the next load? Did I match two socks incorrectly? Was the sock left at the park never to return? Did the laundry fairies take it for their nest? Do I keep it in a bag of lonely socks to be sorted through twice a year? Do I throw it away only to find it the next day?

Living in the midwest, matching socks will always be a necessary¬†evil. Male socks aren’t too bad. Most are relatively similar and I can buy a bag of 30 matching socks. I swear there must be some rule on kids and women socks. Socks must be sold in packs of 2-4 socks and each be slightly different from each other. A value pack of socks is considered a whopping 6 pairs of socks.

Vent complete. Enjoy your day!