Two hours to go. I have yet to pull on my socks. They’re sitting next to the computer, staring at me.
Mocking me.
This sordid tale rushes to the inevitable, hurtling to a conclusion that will result in either the death of me or the annihilation of these curséd socks.
If I do not return by noon Central Time, then it can be assumed that there is a black sock gagging me and a second wrapped tightly around my throat. Morituri te salutant, Socksar.
Interviewer: I see from your resume you worked at Burrows Wellcome. What did you do there?
Ino: I socked…er, STOCKED inventory and made sure they matched. The records. Inventory records. Not socks. That was supposed to be stocks. I mean, stocked.
Interviewer: I see…and what type of inventory?
Ino: Over the calf drugs.
Interviewer: Excuse me?
Ino: I mean over the COUNTER drugs. (crosses legs, hurriedly uncrosses them)
Interviewer: Did you also keep records of your inventories?
Ino: Yes.
Interviewer: How did you store them?
Ino: We argyled…I mean ARCHIVED them on to the network drive. (Gets possessed by the spirit of George Costanza) LOOK, I ADMIT IT! MY SOCKS DON’T MATCH OK??? WHAT ELSE CAN I DO AT 10 PM WHEN I GOT 14 PAIRS OF SOCKS AND NONE OF THEM MATCH? SO NOW YOU KNOW! CAN WE JUST MOVE ON? PLEASE???
“For the love of argyle, Ino!”
“Yes, for the love of argyle”
lno is gonna kill you guys for calling him Ino. 
BTW, the quoted ditty in my previous post is to be sung to the tune of “Eric the Half Bee.”
Medium size safety pins. The laundry system at my domicile is, shall we say, less than ideally efficient. In order to ensure my socks stay together and can be easily matched I keep a box of safety pins on top of my dresser. Each night when I take my socks off I pin the pairs together before tossing them in the laundry hamper. I have yet to ruin a pair by tearing the pin through the fabric(which was my main concern when my wife suggested this tip to me). It helps that I buy high-quality mens dress socks from actual men’s clothing stores instead of the ones they sell at Wal-Mart.
Keeping them out of the reach of the puppy is another issue, but I would like to point out that if a pinned pair had the heel eaten out of one you could throw both away. This keeps you from suffering under the illusion that you actually HAVE a pair of socks when in reality all you have is one-of’s.
Enjoy,
Steven
They didn’t strap me down onto a conference table and ritually sacrifice me for the fashion faux pas.
Counts for something, I guess.
Then they’re simply not worth working for! You’ve got to have standards. Who knows what other slipshod practices these people may have? Get while the gettin’s good!
Enjoy,
Steven
No sympathy here. You men and your friggin’ black socks. I’m going to do six loads of laundry when I get home and 10 pounds of it is going to be my husband’s endless misbegotten pairs of black socks WHICH ARE ALL DIFFERENT. I wouldn’t even mind so much if they had different patterns on them, but nooooo: They are just different SHADES OF BLACK!
I hereby declare that men must begin wearing socks like those of kindergarten girls, which are readily distinguishable by their colors, patterns, beads, bows, lace, and Winnie-the-Pooh faces.
Yeah, kind of like women who must, must, must! match their bras and panties, even though - unlike socks! - no one sees them. Well, mostly no one.
Admit in, dan. You guys LIKE when they match.
Don’t you???
I mean, come on, we’re not just doing this for NOTHING, are we?
When I ditched all my white sports socks (my teenage kids said I lood like a perv) I bought about ten pair of black Nike sports socks. From the same shop, on the same day. Each of the 20 sock(?) were exactly the same shade of black, which was…well, black.
Within a month, could I find 2 socks that where the same shade? No, could I fuck!
BTW, about the perv thing. It turns out it had nothing to do with the white socks. It was because I that was all I used to wear!:smack:
Heh heh. “Slipshod.”
That’s exactly right! Why, if I get a girl down to her skivvies and they don’t match, she gets kicked out of bed and I promise never to call her again. Heck, I even change my own number as a precaution!
It’s people like you who paint your toenails during the winter!
Comedy gold! My sides are hurting from laughing so hard!