Some months ago, I picked up the laundry and when I put it away, I was left with one sock missing its partner. Said sock went onto the top of the armoire. Who knew. Maybe the missing sock was under the bed and would show up in due course. Perhaps it was still in the clothes hamper and missed the trip to the laundry. Perhaps it would magically appear the next time laundry was laundered.
Now, as autumn ebbs toward winter, the lonely sock remains...lonely. Occasionally, I am reminded of the lonely sock's solitary existence when one of the cats knocks it off the top of the armoire. And I am forced to pick it up and put it back up there again.
I suppose I should give up on the return of my sock's fraternal twin, but I liked this pair of socks and I'll feel bad if I forsake him. He's already lost a brother. Hasn't he been through enough already.
LuLu just jauntily launched him from his lofty aerie again. I'll be headed into the bedroom shortly to put him back in his place of temporary repose. It's the least I can do for him.
Besides, I just know that two days after I get around to disposing of this loyal sock who never did anything to deserve disposal, I'll encounter a house-elf in need of emancipation...and then where will I be.