As I sit on my miniature bed, compared to my booming room and floor, I try and search through all of the clutter of books, clothes, and schoolwork for my missing sock. I gander high and low, on bookshelves and under dressers but it doesn’t turn up. Just my luck I think to myself.

Every morning I wake up in search of two socks that might resemble a pari but if never seems to happen. I might find one that I love to wear, that is so soft and comfortable, one that makes me feel like I am walking on this air, but its other half just doesn’t seem to want to be found. I look high and low, under beds, in drawers, always seeming to find yesterday’s sock, but never the one I want today; the one that I have been looking forward to.

Whenever this situation occurs, which is usually four of five times a week, I always think of ways to try and prevent it from happening again, but nothing ever seems to work. Often I think that siblings or parents steal socks. Or left at friend’s houses, but that’s not the case.

“Matt those are my socks!” I exclaim in a yell.

“No they aren’t Chris. Other people can have the same socks as you do.” He says irritatibly.

Socks are like that little pain in my side that I can never get rid of. I blame and accuse others about stealing my socks or taking them, but it’s almost as if socks have thought of their own and don’t want to be found. They find tiny little crevices that I never even knew exist and just hideaway, never to be found again. It doesn’t matter what kind of sock it is: a soccer sock, a school sock, or a mid-length sock, they all seem to go missing.

The other way to ruin a great pair of socks is through the washer or dryer. I HATE when I put brand spanking new socks into the wash and they come out pink. I accidentally throw them in with the dark wash, the colors fun, and I go to school looking like I just went shopping at a Victoria Secret sock convention. It’s quite humiliating actually, when people ask, “Wow Chris, where’d you get those cute pink socks?” These are the times that make me want to go sockless or wear sandals because I just had to mistakenly throw my socks into the dark wash.

As I tuck myself into bed and look at my dirty feet because of the sandals I had to wear, I think to myself, why does this always happen to me? Why do my socks just have to ruin my day? Every morning I wake up hoping and prying that I will have a pair of socks to wear, but the sock goddess is never on my side.