Single socks

Every morning I get amazed at the number of single socks I own. Why do they refuse to pair up? Emancipation? Bad ownership? Left-wing/right-wing polarity? Single-mindedness?

"Poor synthetic souls", sock-centrists would sigh. "Stuck where the sun don't shine, severed from their other halves, disowned, derelict, dysfunctional.

If I were a mo(u)rning person, I would shed a tear for every single specimen. But instead, morning after morning I slip into the wrong sock, forcefully marrying incompatible members of the hosiery family. Together they need to function as a team. Yet, in their basted hearts they remain single. Single socks. Getting off on the wrong foot with their owner. Feigning toe holes. Hoping to be ditched during doomed attempts at darning.

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