Tea and the Missing Sock

Missing socks are the bane of our modern era and of anyone who does laundry in our newfangled washing machines (actually, they’ve been around since 1908). So are inside out T-shirts, but I digress. Tea — that miracle beverage that calms and invigorates all at the same time — helps us deal with this annoyance in our daily lives and keeps us steady enough for a full house search — attic to basement — for that missing sock.

Socking hunt postponed until fresh cuppa tea in hand! (Photo source: A.C. Cargill, all rights reserved)
Socking hunt postponed until fresh cuppa tea in hand! (Photo source: A.C. Cargill, all rights reserved)

Now, you may not want to go to the effort for that simple white cotton crew sock or that polyester knee-high from Wal-Mart. But you will probably want to go to the extra effort for that high-end sock. And that’s exactly what happened at our house. One of a pair of very special socks escaped from the laundry basket and found a secret hiding place. Okay, so I should probably have kept them separate from the regular laundry since they are 80% cashmere and should therefore be hand-washed. Sigh!

Discovering this flight of one of the socks (don’t ask me why the other one didn’t run off, too, at the possibility of being put in a washing machine) came at a time when I also had slurped up the last drop in my teacup and then discovered that the teapot was empty. It was sort of like a perfect storm.

Thank goodness hubby was home.

Ever one to keep his head in a crisis, hubby took the following actions in this order:

  1. Hugged me.
  2. Put water in the kettle and set it on the stove to heat.
  3. Prepped the teapot with some English Breakfast Tea No. 1 — guaranteed to calm yet pep us up for the search.
  4. Steeped the tea.
  5. Hugged me again while the tea was steeping.
  6. Poured me a cuppa (and one for himself).
  7. Joined me in the search, mugs of tea in hand, in a thorough and logical manner.

By the way, calling out “Here, sock, c’m here girl!” doesn’t work. Go figure.

So, we opened drawers, looked behind things, dug through boxes, scared some spiders and a strange bug or two, found a stale cookie and a missing scrunchie, continued looking through more drawers and under things and behind things and then… our mugs were empty! Hubby trotted back down to the kitchen to refill them and brought them up while I sat in a sort of hazy “missing sock waiting mode” until I could take another sip of tea. Slurp…Ah! The search continued.

To make a long story short, this went on for awhile, and we covered the whole second floor of our house twice. We were just about to head back down to the first floor when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a bit of dark grey cashmere peeking out from behind a bookcase. Of course! Just where you’d expect a cashmere sock to be. Duh!

The search over, we settled in to a quiet tea time to finish off that pot of tea and a few chocolates that insisted on us eating them — honest!

Next time one of your socks makes a run for it or you find that your T-shirts are turned inside out, just have a soothing cuppa.

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2 thoughts on “Tea and the Missing Sock

  1. Glad this story did not go in the direction that I thought it might at first. Poorly-prepared ripe pu-erh tea that is often found in Chinese restaurants is often described as tea that has been strained through a dirty sock. So pleased that this article went toward a positive note.

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