Tag Archives: washing

Lost Socks Looking for Sole Mates


I’ll confess to being ever so slightly OCD about certain things. One of these is the washing – or laundry, if you prefer.

When hanging up wet clothes to dry, whether outdoors on the clothes line or indoors on the clothes drier, radiator or pulley, there is one absolute must. The be all and end off of “washing etiquette”. Socks MUST be hung in pairs.

On the rare occasion that a member of the household assists by hanging up the washing and doesn’t hang the socks in pairs, I can feel myself twitching to fix them. In fact, I have actually been known to re-hang whole loads of washing if they haven’t been hung up to my standards. Crazy, I know.

Girl Child seems to be on a lifelong mission to tip me over the edge when it comes to many things – particularly socks.

For as long as I can remember, she has been a total nightmare with socks. As a baby/toddler, she would haul them off at the first opportunity and hurl them from the pram. Once she got a bit older, she would pull them off and run barefoot until I caught up with her. As she grew older, she developed a new bad habit- one that is still continuing.

She will go to bed wearing her socks (sometimes multiple pairs) then kick them off in her sleep as she becomes too hot. The result here is, of course, a sock graveyard at the foot of the bed.

This is almost bearable as long as the pairs find their way in to the laundry basket.

The occasional odd sock I can deal with- as long as I take slow deep breaths and its mate turns up in the next load of washing.

Last week Girl Child went one step too far. As I hung up the socks, I had not one or two odd socks– not even three. Six!

Six odd socks had come out of one load of washing and were all hers!

An immediate sock hunt ensued in her “bat cave”. More socks were located, lurking under the duvet and cowering on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The next load of laundry resulted in three sock reunions (I love a happy ending).I was almost breathing easily again.

Now, however, several loads later, I still have three sock “orphans”.

Does anyone want to adopt?


Irreconcilable Socks and the Solidarity of Shirts

There’s one thing that never ceases to amaze me on a weekly basis and that’s the amount of clothes we go through in this house. I’m sure someone sneaks in here and deposits their laundry in my basket. It used to be a weekly ironing pile I faced on a Sunday – now it’s a veritable mountain with an accompanying mountain range of bedcovers, towels, socks and knickers!

How can four people generate so much laundry in one week?

I’m convinced that once it’s placed in the laundry basket in the cupboard in the utility room that it breeds in the dark.

Shirts! They are like magnets and attract other shirts – usually tangling themselves in each other’s sleeves as an act of solidarity in the washing machine. Between Monday and Friday the three shirt-wearing inhabitants manage to dirty fifteen of them! Grrrr

Socks are another nuisance. Pesky wee things! I’m sure they are playing games with me. At the end of last week I had three “odd” dark socks. What the Hell I thought and threw them back into the laundry basket in the hope that they would be magically reconciled with their partners. It worked! However three other pairs got “divorced” and I still have three “odd” socks!

You’d think, logically, that Girl Child would be the worst offender for generating excessive amounts of washing. True, she does that teenage girl thing – wears it once or sometimes even just tries it on and decides not to wear it – and throws it in the general direction of the washing basket.


The Big Green Gummi Bear is the culprit. His love of water sports and daily trips to the gym are to blame. At the weekend he can work his way through three or four sets of t-shirts, socks and underwear per day. If left unattended for more than twenty four hours this sweaty wet pile exacts its revenge and begins to emit the most foul odour of Eau d’River Clyde. (The washing that is not the Big Green Gummi Bear…well maybe occasionally)

Ironing also has its own magic powers. My rule of thumb is that “if it doesn’t get ironed on Sunday then it has to wait until next week”. I’m a bit OCD about getting it all done on a Sunday (watching MotoGP or Formula 1 does help to get through it quicker). I’ll sort it into two piles- shirts and stuff that requires a cooler iron. By the time I’ve set up the ironing board and the iron, there’s invariably a cat, Frankenstein, sound asleep in the middle of it – on top of something black of course.

I surrender! I’m away to investigate the pros and cons of joining a nudist colony.

Only joking- I’m actually away to hang out the washing!