First you yank them from the dryer and dump the hot haystack on the bed. Then you start pairing up the easy ones — reconnecting brown argyle husbands with brown argyle wives and red-striped brothers with red-striped sisters. It’s free and easy love all around.
But then it happens.
You hit that big pile of white or black leftover socks and matching gets tough. You’re inspecting patterns and heel placements, checking textures and fades, all the while hoping, just hoping, that everything will work out fine.
As you approach the last few socks you do a quick mental count. You’re like a parent inspecting a newborn baby for ten little fingers and ten little toes, only all you’re looking for is whether or not you’ve got an even number of socks left on the bedspread.
If you do, and if they all match up perfectly, then you’re loving it. There are no missing tube socks or disappearing dress socks. Everything is locked and loaded, so you just put them all together, take that basket of well-worn lovers to the dresser, and dump them all in with a big smile on your face.