|
 I am not a totalitarian, you probably aren't either, but there are
times when our leftist minds linger on a fleeting thought that fatally
undermines our morality. This thought is induced, as I'm sure you are
aware, by an errant sock.
Stories have been written to explain
the missing sock. Some claim that gnomes are responsible. Others
suggest that socks may have just fallen behind the dryer. These tales
answer the ontological question: Why is my sock missing?
I am
far more concerned with the political and ethical implications of this
conversation. Namely, how should one judge a sock that is missing its
partner. The school of thought, which I tend to follow in my daily
life, is one of tolerance. I throw the singular sock in with rest. One
big socky family. Beautiful.
The other school, says with fascist efficiency: "This sock is not normal, eliminate it."
My
default state has condemned such actions historically, but recent
developments have led me to reconsider adversarial thoughts. My sock
drawer has become overcrowded.
Before Burning Man, my girlfriend
bought me six sets of anklet socks. I already had a set of wool socks
from last winter in London. I had random socks that fell into my bin
from doing laundry at my parents' house.
"Hey" I thought "the more socks the merrier."
This
restriction-free era, saw an unprecedented growth in the number of
socks. At first I didn't care if socks were mismatched, everybody was
welcome.
I'd reach into my drawer, an Argyle. A pink lady's sock. An infant sized sock.
Eventually I couldn't find any matching pair.
I couldn't figure out what to do. In a reformist effort to curb sock-loss
I created a space above t-shirts, to keep lonely singles. A sort of
dating agency, for socks looking for their soul mate. But more-and-more
socks would show up, which couldn't be paired.
So last night, I invented a new sorting system for socks.
I put my clothes into piles. T-shirts here. Pants there. Socks over there.
I
left the socks for last. I found myself thinking "folding socks isn't
so bad. It's like a game." After the game finished, I threw all the
pairs into the drawer. But there was a shocking remainder.
That's when I had that terrible flash of autocracy: "I shall rid my world of all socks that don't have pairs."
I
decided it'd better to sleep on this decision, so I threw the socks
into a dungeon. When I checked again, they had escaped. Apparently
they'd been reintegrated into the general sock population.
I have an open message to that sock with the orange stain on it:
When
I re-sort my cottony footwear, you'd better hide, because if I find
you, you'll become a victim of this new sorting system for socks.
Fashion is fascism.
Joshua Heller is a writer who travels, a lot. His favorite food is tacos. Check out his blog: http://hellerscorner.blogspot.com
 |
1 Comments 
