The trouble with socks

I have come to realise something: socks are evil, manipulative time thieves that exist simply to taunt us at washing time. Harsh words, I know, but hear me out. Sure, they look innocent enough and appear charming at first glance, offering to keep our extremeties warm and cosy and protect our cold, tired feet from the elements and shoes. But think about your actions next time you do a load of washing and you might come to agree with me.

I am convinced that I spend a disproportionate amount of housework time finding, hanging, matching and balling socks compared to any other laundry task. Most other items of clothing are more considerate than the humble sock in that they are presented as a self-contained unit. Think about trousers, t-shirts, or even pantyhose and stockings; they don't rely on a companion to be useful. Dresses are particularly amiable ensembles, containing all the essentials for the top AND bottom part of an outfit. I probably makes things more difficult for myself by only wearing black socks that I wash inside out, but I swear that washing machines the world over find it hilarious to eat one sock per load and/or swap it for another that looks similar but is not quite the same. Or perhaps they just share fetishes for black socks?

I'm not the first person to blog about sock dramas; I shudder when I imagine the ongoing nightmare that would ensue if required to keep socks for a whole family in check! It would be enough to turn odd socks into a fashion statement, something which someone from my student days used to insist on doing. She was miffed when someone accused her of wearing a matching pair one day and huffily pointed out that they were in fact dark blue and dark purple respectively!

I remember seeing a Dragons' Den-type show years ago where someone proposed commercially developing little sock clips that would keep pairs together in the wash and then hang straight on the line. No-one took it up, which shocked me as I thought it was the most practical, ingenious invention presented that day. Mind you, most of the dragons were men ...

I also knew someone years ago whose household would regularly hold a sock amnesty, whereby everyone living there would deposit their odd socks in the middle of the floor and pairs were matched, returned or retrieved. Actually, her flatmates would hold these; she was an Order Muppet and declared that none of her socks were missing or mismatched.

Do you have sock dramas, or have you found a sock solution that prevents sock stress?