Missing Socks and Birthday Cake

The Amazing and Mysterious Case of the Missing Socks
I'd be willing to bet that just about anyone who has these four items - a pair of socks, a washing machine, and a dryer - has at some point in their life been faced with this great, universal mystery of life, namely, why is it that you often put two socks into a washing machine or dryer but only one sock comes out? For years, my answer to that question was to blame my lovely and long-suffering wife, Katie, because she was the one doing the majority of the sock-washing (and drying), and since she was doing the sock-washing, it made sense to blame her when my socks went into the laundry two-by-two, then returned, solitary and alone. Now before you jump up out of your chair (or wherever you're sitting) to defend Katie and blame the villainous appliances, I should note that the culprit in this situation, quite often, was Katie, in that she would mistakenly put my sock with laundry belonging to one of the kids, so they would take my sock and stow it away in their dresser drawers (which, in my mind, means that they're really the ones to blame, because my socks are quite distinct from theirs and they should recognize an unfamiliar sock among their own, say to themselves, "Hey, that doesn't look like one of my socks, maybe I should find out who it belongs to," and return it to their rightful owner, which would be me). But because they were thoughtless and nonchalant, they didn't do that, and instead, crammed my sock into their drawer with their socks, where it would languish for days/weeks until I went searching through their drawers and discovered/rescued it from this purgatorious state. So this might seem like a whole lot of to-do over something pretty minor, and in the grand scheme of life the universe and everything, I suppose that might be true, but ever since I converted to the non-cotton-sock club, I've grown quite attached to my specially constructed running socks, so when one of them goes missing, I get a little upset (plus, the darned things are pretty darned expensive, and I am, as has been previously noted on previous occasions, a bit of a miser when it comes to monetary issues).

So the upshot of all this is that I started washing all my socks (and other running/cycling gear) separately so that I would be in complete control of the process from start to finish. And, for quite awhile, that seemed to solve the problem. I would put a pair of socks in the washing machine, and when it was done washing, spinning, rinsing, and cycling through all its cycles, I would take a pair of socks out. Perfect. Until last week, that is, when I pulled my laundry out of the machine, began to sort it and discovered… that I was missing two socks! Seriously. Not just one, but two. And not a pair of two, but one from one pair and one from another. Imagine my sorrow and dismay. Well, needless to say, I was quite dismayed and sorrowful (as well as frustrated) and I immediately set out to find the missing socks. First, I figured they might still be in the machine, and maybe I overlooked them in my haste. So I took a second, and even a third look, but found no socks. Then I thought maybe I had dropped them on the way from my bedroom to the laundry room, so I carefully retraced my steps, examining the floor carefully for any sign of a stray sock, but once again, found nothing. Then I thought maybe I had accidentally tossed them past the laundry basket so they might be lodged in an odd nook or cranny in my room, but though I searched all nooks and every cranny, I still found neither sock. Needless to say, I was heartbroken as I went to bed that night. Where could the missing socks be? How could my perfect system have failed so miserably? All night, I tossed and turned as nightmare visions of my socks, lonely and neglected, plagued my dreams. But at some point, I decided that I must soldier on. So soldier on I did.

For several days. Until, out of the blue, I had a sudden thought. A strange and wonderful and slightly zany idea popped into my head. The cat. Likes to hide under the bed. And cats are strange animals. And this cat is especially strange, even for a cat. And strange cat-type animals might like to steal socks. So maybe our cat (She-she Squeakers Kittyface) had stolen two of my socks out of the basket, pulled them under the bed and… well, I can't describe what she might have done with them, partly because I really don't have any idea, and partly because I'm making an effort to keep these entries appropriate for all ages. So I went to the bedroom, got down on hands and knees, and peered into the dark and mysterious world that makes up the world under the bed - and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a pair of missing socks, and eight tiny reindeer (not really, it was just the socks). The mystery was solved. And now, I make sure to put my socks underneath something substantial (like a shirt) whenever I put them in the laundry basket - hopefully all will be well that will end well.

Let them eat cake
Connor celebrated his birthday last week, and we decided to participate in the strange birthday custom in which you bake a cake for the birthday person (where does this come from, anyway?). So he came up to me before I went to the store and said, "Dad, will you get me cake mix for my birthday cake at the store?" and I said, "Sure. What flavor do you want?" and he said, "German Shepherd," and I said, "Are you sure?" and he said, "Yeah, I always get that kind," and I said, "Really? You want to eat a cake that's flavored like a dog?" and he looked at me like I was crazy for a second until he realized what he had said, and we both had a pretty good laugh about that one. Yeah. Good times. For sure.

Okay, that's all for this time 'round the rodeo range, so until next time, may your socks remain safely mated, may your pets remain non-kleptomanic, and may your cakes be light and fluffy and moist and deliciously enticing.