That's Life: I want my socks back

Issue of June 4, 2010 / 22 Sivan 5770

Dear That’s Life,

This past Shabbat I was at my friend’s house. She likes hanging out at her neighbor’s home so we walked over. Her neighbor said, “Hi,” to my friend and then asked me who I was. I said, “My name is Lizzie Wallach.” She paused for a second and said, “Wallach...that sounds familiar.” I’ve heard that before, so I said that my mother is Miriam L. Wallach. “She writes for the Jewish Star,” I said, and then added, “Last page.” That must not have been it.

“Oh, we don’t really read the Jewish Star,” she explained. “My father owns the Five Towns Jewish Times.”

Oops.

Lizzie Wallach

Dear That’s Life,

There are many mysteries in life that I will never be able to answer. There are some for which I do not think answers exist. And yet, I would simply like someone to tell me where my socks go when I put a pair in the dryer and only one comes out. I don’t think that is too much to ask.

There is a whole nation of single socks in my laundry room. They are sock puppets waiting to happen. They are looking for their mates and know they’re out there somewhere. Sometimes, for a while, you can make do with pairing two socks that are very close but aren’t perfect, but ultimately you want to match two identical socks that were meant to be together. (Metaphor for the Jewish dating scene? Possibly, but we are just talking about socks here. I do not know if it is any deeper than that.)

It was time to launch an offensive against the Sock Monster — the being whom I am sure has been taking my socks and dropping them into the sock abyss. I needed to take back my laundry room. And so I have taken matters into my own hands and am going back to my sleep-away camp days. Yes, I have started pinning my socks together.

The logic is that if I can’t have both socks, then I don’t want only one. Or, an optimist would say that if I’ve pinned them together then I wouldn’t lose either. Hoping for the latter, I now have a use for all of the safety pins I get from the dry cleaner (besides sending them to school so my children can act as carrier pigeons.) I am here to save my socks.

I recently explained to my daughter who is going to sleep-away camp for the first time, the logic behind pinning her socks before sending them into the camp laundry. This child has a unique sense of individuality and she often expresses it in the way she dresses. (For those of you from the 80s, think Punky Brewster. For those of you from 2010, think the line of socks and clothing from “Little Miss Matched.) I encourage that individuality and know that it is part of the special girl that she is. And while she is very bright, she did not see the logic of the safety pin exercise. “You would rather have none than have one?” she said, looking at me funny. I said “Yes,” though the look of confusion on her face made it seem as though she didn’t believe me. The prospect of having many single socks did not seem to bother her. After all, she is the kid for whom I deliberately buy mismatched socks — a three-pack of coordinating socks that you are not supposed to match. A bag of single unmatched socks could have been her Chanukah present. Silly me.

And then it hit me: necessity is the mother of invention. Or, in this case, some mother had an untold number of single socks, and with them she invented this company that sells mismatched socks that ‘go’ together but are not identical. And this woman is such a genius that she got me to buy them, not even considering the plethora of socks I already own. And while I don’t know this for sure, it is my theory and I am sticking to it.

Think anyone would buy all my lonely socks if I posted them on eBay? Yup, I’m sure they would, too.

MLW