Rebels of the Dark Load

Most household chores occur without a great deal of thought and effort. Over time, we’re able perform mundane tasks like taking out the garbage and unloading the dishwasher with machine-like precision. Bend down. Grab plate. Pivot at waist. Place on shelf. Repeat.

However, there is one chore where repetition does not increase proficiency. It involves a countless -- and often fruitless – series of trial and error where frustration is often the outcome rather than completion of the task.

Matching blue socks.

In many diverse cultures, blue is significant in religious beliefs, brings peace, or is believed to keep the bad spirits away. When it comes to folding laundry, blue socks have the direct opposite effect.

I normally save playing matchmaker for last in hopes the socks will pair up on their own like amorous college students after a frat party, but this never occurs. There they lie; an entangled orgy of blue fabric. The rebels of the dark load.

I reach for one at random, then another. From all outward appearances, it looks as though I’m off to a successful start. Then, through some mysterious optical illusion worthy of a Vegas magic show, the colors no longer match. I reach for another, and the outcome is the same. Close, but no cigar.

There really should be one, nationally approved color for blue socks. Period. Something along the lines of the standard blaze orange for hunters, yellow for school buses, and red for stop signs. It can’t be that hard.

My wife has adopted what I like to call the CIA-KGB approach to sock sorting. She carefully lays all the socks out under a bright light as if she were interrogating a prisoner. “Vare ist your gold toe brother? He vas with you last night. Ve hav vays to make your talk. Speak!! Or, you’ll spend the vest of your life dusting furniture! This approach seems to work although it’s a tad unsettling.

A neighbor of mine has resorted to numbering his socks in much the same way as the cartoon character Fog Horn Leg Horn “kept his feathers numbered in case of emuurgency.” Simply match the ones with the ones, the twos with the twos and so on.
So, what do the experts have to say about the issue?

The National Hosiery Association web site mentions a product that’s designed to prevent the missing sock syndrome and helps with keeping socks matched with their proper mate. Prior to tossing your stinky socks in the hamper, you feed the pair through a device called a Sock-Lock which is a colorful plastic disc with a star-shaped cut out. (Think napkin ring) Sock-locks.com makes the following claims:

Perfect for keeping similar color (but not exactly matching) socks separate.
Each member of your household could use a different color to make sorting laundry a breeze.
Fewer lost and mismatched socks saves you money.
Great for campers and college students. (I assume these are the demographic profiles that suffer from the highest incidents of lost socks)

By the way, a variety pack of 24 will set you back about $30. However, in order to keep socks properly matched, you’ll need to imprison them immediately upon purchase. Your socks would only be allowed to roam when you do.

As for me, you can keep your numbering, your Sock Locks and interrogation lights. I’ve started matching socks by texture rather than color. The way I see it, if they feel like they match, then they must match.