It was a day like any other. The dog demanded a walk and food, and more of each. Coffee was worshipped.
Then I went to unload the dryer from last night’s washing. No sun for several days had led to a laundry crisis.
As I unloaded the dryer I came across two pairs of Lightfoot work socks as pictured.
Puzzling, but as this load of washing included the cleaning rags that Paola uses, I connected the socks to the rags and the rags to her. Elementary. Somehow her socks had got mixed up with the rags. Perhaps they fell out of a bag she brought, and she did not notice when scooping the lot up. Who knows.
Mystery solved, I made a mental note to return the socks to her and to ask how they came to be there.
Ah huh. I left the socks among the cleaning materials and thought nothing more about the matter until her next scheduled appearance. Dutifully, she appeared and then said, ‘What are these socks doing here!’
She disclaimed the socks in no uncertain terms. ‘Not mine.’ I explained how I had come across them. ‘Not mine.’ she reiterated. “It is a good brand,’ I said. ‘Not mine,’ she repeated, slowly so I would get it.
I now have two additional pairs of socks. Not the sort I would have chosen for myself, but sturdy and comfortable.
Is this the washing machine compensating me for all the odd socks lost in the wash these many years?
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