Forlorn Singles

He shuffled through the sock drawer, eternally rummaging for the missing matching sock. Black, argyle, striped, gold toe, flannel, crew and athletic; they were all forlorn singles with no visible partner. He found the master and dug with fervent aggression into the drawer to find its potential counterpart. It was a crisp, black gold toe -- calf-high and well into the upper echelons of snugness and comfortability -- but its temporary sole mate was a limpy grey dress sock with faint argyle stitching that had once seen its heyday at least three pairs of shoes before. But despite the obvious mismatch, it was still the closest match despite the sea of socks swimming in the madness of his drawer at the time. How we wished he could find a matching sock for once. One day is all that would suffice for him to have the homey comfort of knowing that the strips of cotton covering his feet were were of the same origin. But the daily deception worked, and it was only he and the sock that knew of the shameful little secret. Nobody else could tell it was a complex scheme designed to tricking everyone into believing he could find a sock that simply matched another one.