Sock Puppet

This is the day I no longer recognised the duality of socks. For as long as I've done my own washing, I would separate and neatly arrange the socks on my bed and then pair up the socks in a ball. I remember the frustration of the majority black socks being especially difficult to match. It became a matter of the thickness, the thread, and also that bit around the toes. That's how you could tell if they were inside out.

In the process of pairing my socks, I took time to notice the differences in shades of black, the very dark navy socks and brands – Wilson, Nike, Pringles. There were also the novelty socks with hilarious suggestions like – Beer Time! There were socks for days, socks for seasons, and this helped the pairing process. You would start with the easy novelty socks, then move to the thick dark socks, and so you would complete the elimination process. If you were lucky, there would be no remainder.

One day there was a remainder, and ever since it propagated with no-one ever noticing my infernal irritation at this, one of life's 'little things'. I suspect this is where things began to go wrong and I abandoned pairing my socks. “Fuck it” I said. Now I couldn't give a damn and just dump the pile in a drawer. So I get all the days mixed up, and eventually my whole life is a mess. I said “Fuck it” to lots of other things like shaving, working, getting-up – all of this simply because I no longer pair my socks.
And you know what, I couldn't give a fuck.