Anatomy of a Laundry Basket

One of the many perplexing questions about life, along with the chicken and the egg conundrum and how the world began, is the missing sock issue.
Where do all those odd socks disappear to?
Iβve heard on the grapevine that all that lint that you find in your dryer is actually the cremated remains of socks. Β I donβt know about you but Iβm just not comfortable with the idea that my g-strings, jumpers, and jeans are sacrificing the occasional sock to the Lord of the Tumble.
Regardless of the truth, I have a growing pile of socks that have now, sadly, resigned themselves to singledom.
Is it strange to feel sorry for lonely socks?
Could an online sock matching/dating site be the next big thing?
Probably notβ¦but it didnβt stop me, yesterday, assigning names to the forlorn socks left at the bottom of my laundry basketβ¦
George Michael
βIβm never gonna dance againβ
Aerosmith
βHole in my soulβ
Stevie Wonder
βHelloβ¦Is it me your looking for?β
Madonna
βIβm a material girl.β
Elvis
βIβm left, your right, sheβs gone.β
Whitney Houston
βI wanna dance with somebody.β
Meatloaf
βTwo out of three ainβt bad.β
(Come onβ¦I canβt be the only one that ends up with three of the same sock! Β Three? Β FFS!)
Michael Jackson
βIt donβt matter if your black or white.β
Kylie
βIβm spinning around.β
The sock that somehow always stays in the dryer longer than it should.
And finally Britneyβ¦
βToxicβ
(This is generally one of the Wooβs socks. Β My goodness that boy’s feet stink!)
Soβ¦thatβs whose living in my laundry basket this week! Β What would you call your socks…yβknowβ¦if they could sing?
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