Sometimes filling in a pair can be a challenge

Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

EDITOR’S NOTE: Our columnist was called out of town this week, but he still managed to leave behind this prior column.

My life would be a lot simpler if certain things didn’t come in pairs.

Note I’m only saying certain things, not everything. Some things that come in pairs are a good thing and make my life, at least, much better.

For instance, I’d have trouble getting around if I hadn’t come with a pair of feet and I certainly don’t want to give either one of them up — that would make my life anything but simpler.

Similarly, I wouldn’t be writing this column now if I didn’t come with a pair of hands, so that’s a pair that makes my life a lot simpler.

Those of you who said something about your lives being much better if I didn’t have a pair of hands so I wouldn’t be writing this column now — or any time, for that matter — I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your comments to yourself, and I’ll keep both of my hands attached.

There are other naturally occurring physical pairs that are a pleasant and agreeable part of my life, of course.

What I referred to in the opening, though, is items that come in pairs like socks and gloves, to name but a few.

The problem is that it seems to be a law of nature that things like that which come in pairs eventually wind up getting separated and, what’s worse, one of them usually gets irretrievably lost.

Every winter usually starts with me searching the house from top to bottom looking for the match to even one of what seems to be an uncountable number of single, unmatched gloves that are all I can find when the temperature dips into below freezing regions.

I can assure you that I have never once in my life bought a single glove. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen single gloves being sold in any stores. But before any pair of gloves I’ve ever bought has worn out, there’s only one left to be found.

Don’t ask me where those missing gloves have gotten to — they moved on and left no forwarding address.

They’re probably in the very same place with the multitude of single socks that have gone missing from our house over the years.

I’ve gotten more turnover in my sock drawer from missing socks than I have from socks that have worn out, ripped, torn or gotten holes in them.

I’m convinced that there’s a giant secret warehouse somewhere that is filled to the roof and overfl owing with missing socks and gloves — and those are just mine. Forget everybody else’s missing socks and gloves.

Or it may be that they’ve all been abducted by aliens and zoomed off to some undiscovered planet. If that’s the case, I’d appreciate it if they’d come back and take the unmatched ones they left behind, so they quit cluttering up my dresser drawers.

My wife’s latest theory is sock gnomes, who steal single socks to use as a bed.

That’s the tale she told Aiden and, according to Aiden, Mee- Mee would never lie about something like that.

I’ve also heard a theory that individual socks are secretly ground up in clothes dryers, creating the dryer lint that you constantly have to clean out and throw away. Seems plausible to me.

Whatever the reason, these missing half-items have been a bane of my existence for many, many years.

Being an eternal optimist, I have kept single, unmatched socks around for years, waiting forlornly for their long-lost mate to repent and come back home but, alas, there has been no happy ending to my prodigal sock or glove story.

For years, I kept a huge bag full of orphaned socks — which, with two adults and three children in the house, amounted to quite a large number — in the futile hope that the other half would somehow reappear. Finally, Terry drew the line — or maybe threw down the glove — and forced me to pitch them.

But I just started another bag of lonely socks. I can’t give up hope that easy — it would be too simple.

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