Socks, Laundry of.

I have too may socks. Not just a few too many, but way, way too many. When they get washed, some make a bid for freedom and a number seem to succeed, judging by the bag of odd socks I have.

For some time, I have laid the responsibility for the bids for freedom on the lax security regime my beloved wife has when washing them. I have now proved this to be the case. I washed a load of socks on Friday and at the end of the process had a complete number of pairs. Clearly the stricter regime that applies when I'm in charge prevents successful attempts for freedom.

I accept that I now have the job of washing my socks for the remainder of our marriage, and I've no doubt that my beloved wife is not unhappy about that.