Damn The Sock Thief!

OK, so its laundry day, a traumatic event which I only allow to interfere with my daily routine if absolutely essential. I scrabble around my floor extracting all manner of clothing thought to be MIA, and soon manage to fill my duvet cover to overflowing (Yes I should probably buy a laundry basket, but they just don't make them big enough).

I tend to tackle this mammoth task in the earlier hours of the morning so as to avoid the disapproving glares of other (more hygiene conscious) students, lounging about in their gardens as I drag my Santa Sack of laundry surprises along the street. To add to my discomfort the only clean clothes I have to wear during the awful process are those which I haven't chosen to wear for the several preceding weeks, leaving me looking in a state somewhere between a jumble sale and a road accident.

Having negotiated my way down to the laundry room, I now have the dilemma of choosing whether I want my clothes hard pressed and 60% of their original size or still full sized but not particularly clean, the only two options allowed by these "student safe" machines. In fear for my Primark woolens I settle for half clean pay my £2 and make my way, stealth mode, back to my flat to hide out until the cycle ends.

Washing and drying over I begin to fold away my clothes (if I do this quick enough, while they're still warm, I can avoid ironing) and am soon left with a pile of socks to be paired up and put away. The trouble is, on closer observation it appears that hardly any of the socks can be paired up. I stand bemused in front of my pile of mismatched hosiery. How can this be? A brief look around my room reveals that I hadn't left any odd ones unwashed and after a quick change in to some more respectable clothing and a leisurely jaunt back down to the laundry room I find no trace of the offending items there. By now I've convinced myself that I definitely put all my socks in the wash, and my bemusement has turned anger, sodding, sock eating pile of shit! Whilst logic tells me the mashing machine does not have a personal vendetta against me and my socks, I am convinced otherwise and it appears I am not alone in my suspicions.

In a bid to find out exactly where my missing socks had gone I ransacked the internet and ventured upon a stupid amount of ridiculous theories on the subject that's been puzzling humans worldwide for years. Amongst them the blame was laid on washing machines, animals, bandits, thieves and my personal favorite, an animation depicting a secret passage from the mashing machine to a sock monster vending machine.

Be all of them beyond insane, these theories hold some solace in that others empathize with my frustration. I wonder If any Americans have taken Hotpoint to court over this? In this case I would not disapprove.