"That One Sock the Washing Machine Sacrifices to the Laundry Gods"

You start laundry with the best intentions: socks paired, shirts sorted, detergent measured like you're a scientist. Life is good. The machine hums peacefully. You’re productive. You're adulting at 100%.

Then you unload it.

And there it is.

One. Sock. Missing.

You stare at the basket like you're trying to solve a crime scene. “I know I put both socks in here. I held them in my hands. They were together. They were in love!”

But no—now there’s just one lonely cotton warrior left behind, mourning its partner.

You start searching like a maniac. Inside the washer. Around the dryer. Between the towels. Under the shirt with the weird spaghetti stain from 2018. Nothing.

Then you question everything:

Did I ever own the second sock?
Am I losing my mind?
Is my washer secretly hungry for textiles?

Let’s be honest: by this point, you’re not even mad. You’re emotionally invested. You need closure. You imagine a world where all the lost socks are partying together in another dimension. One day you’ll open a portal and there they’ll be—living their best life.

But until then? You have a drawer full of mismatched socks that mock you every morning. You try to make it fashion: “It’s quirky! It’s eccentric!” But deep down, you know the truth.

Somewhere in your laundry system, a sock has vanished into the fabric of space and time.

And the worst part? You know it’s going to happen again.
The cycle repeats.
The sock gods demand tribute.

You’re just a humble mortal.
Doing laundry.
And slowly losing socks... and your sanity.

Anonymous

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"That One Sock the Washing Machine Sacrifices to the Laundry Gods"

Danwhite