Socks, pants, chips, elephants and mirrors

This is what happens when your washing machine breaks down

Photo by Hugo B on Unsplash

“Here’s something that will interest you,” somebody said.

“I doubt it,” I thought.

“It’s about socks,” they continued.

“Oh, well, maybe then.”

“Somebody sent me this,” the person said, showing me a screengrab of a social media post, which was, itself, a picture of a letter printed in a newspaper.

“This world is so meta. I feel like I’m living in a hall of mirrors,” I said.

The letter purported to be from one ‘Robert Smith’ from Berwick-upon-Tweed. I lived in Berwick during the late 1980s and until the mid 1990s, and I don’t remember any Robert Smiths. I said as much.

“Is it possible that you didn’t know everybody who lived there then, or indeed, that you don’t know everyone who has moved there since?”

There was a pause.

“It’s technically possible,” I conceded. “But I doubt it.”

But it was the content of the letter that was of interest, it offered a theory for the mystery of ‘where socks disappear to’, in response to an article previously published in that same august periodical which I had missed on account of never reading it because I don’t consider it to be an august periodical.

The correspondent, masquerading as the lead singer of The Cure, claimed to have noted that “if you inspect your wardrobe as your store of socks diminishes, you will see your stock of coat hangers increasing at the same rate.”

I considered this for a moment.

The letter continued: “This confirms that socks are the larval form of coat hangers.”

I considered this too.

“I don’t think this is really from Berwick-upon-Tweed,” I said. “People there don’t confuse correlation for causation.”

“There are…” there was a brief pause while my interlocutor typed something into their phone, “about 26,000 people who live in Berwick.”

“Fake news,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, that does seem to be wrong, maybe more like 12,000,” they offered.

“That sounds more reasonable,” I conceded.

“So you don’t think that socks are larval coathangers?”

“Why are you even talking to me about socks at a time like this?” I asked, grief and misery clearly etched over my normally equanimous features.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think… when is the repair booked for?”

“Wednesday.”

“So how long is that, then?”

“Over a week… with no functioning washing machine.”

“Wow. I’m… so sorry. I know how much this means to you.”

I turned away, the energy in the room changed. No more bonhomie, no more festive spirit. The broken washing machine had taken on elephantine proportions.

The washing machine drum stopped rotating just after Christmas. A few days later, as the laundry basket started to overflow, I resorted to handwashing some socks and other pieces of underwear. I was hanging them on the line one, rare, sunny morning when my wife materialised alongside me.

“Ah,” she said. “You’ve washed socks.”

“Not only have I washed socks,” I said, pointing to the basket next to me, “but also…”

“Oh! Pants too!” She interrupted me. “You ARE spoiling us!”

I nodded, a faraway look came over my face.

What are new years for, I thought, if not opportunities to make grand gestures?

“It looks as though there’s a Robert Smith who has a fish and chip shop in Berwick.”

“What?” I said.

“Yeah, look,” I was shown the screen of a mobile phone with an advert for something called ‘Robert Smith’s chippy’ the address was ‘Main Street’ in Berwick.

“Inconceivable!”

“Maybe your new year’s resolution should be to have a more open mind.”

I considered this.  

“I don’t really make new year’s resolutions*,” I said.

Happy New Year! May your washing machine never break, may all your socks remain paired**, if you make resolutions, may they last one month longer than you expect them to, and if you set goals, may you achieve enough of them to feel like it was an exercise worth doing. Something more sensible*** will come your way next week.

* It’s true, I don’t. But I set goals. ‘Be more open minded’ is not quantifiable enough for my goals though. I need to be able to tell, easily, if I have achieved them or not.

** It’s true to say, as long term readers know, that socks, like swans, mate for life.

*** If this is true, it is probably only marginally so. Please keep an open mind.