Under our bed is a drawer full of odd socks. It started life as a carrier bag but gradually grew to accommodate those poor, forlorn socks who make it out of the washing machine without their mates.
The socks in this drawer tell a history tale. There are work socks, school socks even some old baby socks that I can’t bring myself to throw away. There are knitted socks, cotton socks, lycra socks and bizarrely some bamboo socks.
I don’t know why they end up alone. I try to pair them together when they go into the machine. It’s as if there is a mystery sock twilight zone that tempts them hither.
Occasionally I attempt a big sort out and go through this drawer looking for pairs but it can be quite disheartening. As you can imagine with 6 of us there are a myriad of socks and patterns to be matched. I did try to convince the kids to join Mummy in the pairing the socks game but they were suddenly busy elsewhere.
This sock drawer is a metaphor for my life. From the outside with the drawer shut my life appears neat and tidy but inside is disarray, unfinished tasks and unravelling scenarios.
I like to keep my sock drawer unfinished to give me a chore to fall back on for when I’m finally up to date with the rest of my housework!