‘Sock, horror! What happens to those things that get lost in the wash?’

I am not a very domestic person. My mum was happy with me mowing the lawn and taking out the trash because the indoor chores were done by my other siblings who were much better at these tasks than I was.

If you ask me to clean, cook or do laundry, I’m going to screw it up. I’m better at making fun of the stupid things that happen to us every day.

When I left corporate life in my 50s, I thought I’d give domestic chores another try. Now that I had more time on my hands I thought I could finally master a few small tasks.

First, I’d try tackling the laundry. After a few loads though, I realised my aptitude in this area was still slim to none. Mixing whites with colours was something I did regularly. Who has time to do two loads of clothes?

Often I would overload the machine with too many clothes and the washing machine would get stuck. Thankfully, the laundry room was down in the carport. There was also a mop nearby. You get the picture …

But socks were my biggest challenge. Where do they really go? When I’d put them in the washing machine and then transfer them to the dryer, somehow a few of them would disappear.

I think there must be a hole in the back of the machine where they make their great escape. Perhaps they have secret meetings with the eyeglasses that I have misplaced, and they all have a party. Once they get tired, they go back to where they were lost to give us a cheap thrill when we find them once again.

Even now, I have so many orphaned socks stuffed into my drawers. Occasionally I will pour them all out onto the bed and try and find their mates. It’s like a dating service trying to find that perfect match. Unfortunately, I am usually successful only 30 per cent of the time.

Do all of us start failing at these easy tasks? I hope not. I don’t think losing socks has much to do with age, but it’s easy to blame yourself. After all, I’ve often found my reading glasses with the bananas, behind the vitamin rack and sometimes in the trash can.

If I am really intent on wearing a particular pair of socks, and I can’t find the mate, I might wear one that looks similar. I know they don’t quite match, but I wear them anyway. How many people really scrutinise your ankles when you’re wearing tennis shoes?

Perhaps I can start a fad by wearing mismatched socks to my improv class. Most of my friends know I’m fairly artistic, and they might think that it’s intentional, or perhaps that I’m trying to start a fad.

Why don’t they make socks with some sort of a velcro attachment so that they don’t get lost when you wash them? It would be a simple solution to a problem the plagues us all.

Until then, I guess I’ll still keep struggling with the laundry. God knows what could happen if I gave cooking a try.

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