LIMA, Peru (July 31, 2013) -- Clearly it was the left sock, because the right sock would never do such a thing. (If you've ever wondered, believe me, it's always the left sock; it's in their nature.)
But on laundry day, in a swirl of machines shared by many, this particular sock decided life must be easier elsewhere and made good an escape. It was not until much later when its mate, abandoned and aggrieved, announced the absence and sent others to look in every possible place for the delinquent defector.
But it was gone, without a trace.
Now, in some sock societies the disappearance of one might not be so terrible a loss. They are known to take short, unannounced journeys to who-knows-where, then return, usually hiding themselves somewhere in shame, and always without explanation. But in this family of just four, best known for never spending more than a few hours in any one place (gypsies and vagabonds all), the loss of one is magnified.
Bereft, mates and minions mourned the loss and searched for days in likely locations in the hopes that the dear departed would repent and return - to no avail.
But life was not easier where left sock chose to go. It had no mate, and being worn without match does not bring the balance and harmony that socks prefer. In fact, life elsewhere turned out very hard indeed, and sock ended up used and abused in a trash heap - filthy, forlorn and forsaken.
And the story might end there, were it not for one so devoted as to never give up hope of a reunion, who found the wayward wanderer buried in lint and litter, in a brown box, bound for oblivion.
Sock has returned home, is cleaned up and appears content. Of course, no tale has yet been told about the time away, and given the usual sullen state of socks, we will probably never hear.