A Sock Comments

I have little elves in my house. Some people call them children, but my familiarity with the nature of elves tends to inform me otherwise. I have been fortunate thus far that though, like you, I have misplaced many a sock, I have nonetheless misplaced none of my children. For very long, that is. These elves, when small, for inscrutable reasons geographically displace their socks one from the other, in defiance or naivety of the well-known existence of sock black holes that frequent the quantum spaces between laundry bin and sock drawer. The constant tempting of fate in this manner is responsible for my premature greying, I am certain. Then these elves grow large enough to discover that my socks actually provide a reasonable replacement for their own orphaned singlets, and mine also are usually conveniently found together in a reliable place. One day I will have the satisfaction of dealing solely with my own sock struggles, but I suspect the magnitude of the space vacated by the vitality of these elves will leave me with the melancholy of an inevitable but unsatisfying trade.