I woke up this morning to the devastating realization that all my socks were gone. Every single one. Not one blue, black, or multi-coloured pair survived the night. I stood in my bedroom staring at the empty drawer as if someone had invaded it.
“Where are my socks?” I muttered aloud even though no one was around to answer. I live alone so really the only possible suspect was my cat, Luna. She sat on the bed blinking slowly, which I took as mockery.
I checked the laundry basket first. Empty. Not even a sad damp sock left behind. I rifled through the hamper. Nothing. Even under the bed where things usually hide there was only dust and one old sneaker I thought I had thrown away last year.
I called my neighbor, Rob. “Rob it is an emergency. All my socks are missing.”
“You are serious?” he asked probably thinking I had finally lost it.
“Yes. Every single one.” I paced my apartment. “Even the ones I thought I lost last week. I checked.”
Rob laughed. “Maybe Luna did it. She is sneaky.”
“The cat?” I shouted. “She does not even know how to open doors.”
“Then who else could it be?” Rob asked, pretending to be helpful.
“I do not know. That is what makes this a mystery,” I muttered feeling slightly dramatic.
I spent the next hour searching. The kitchen, the bathroom, the closet. Everywhere. I found some old receipts, a half-eaten granola bar, a paperclip, and what I think was a pen cap, but no socks.
By noon, I was convinced that my socks had organized some kind of escape plan. I imagined them standing in a circle on the kitchen floor plotting their freedom. One black sock raised an imaginary fist saying we are done being stuffed in drawers. We want adventure.
I tried reasoning with Luna. “Did you take them?” I asked. She blinked at me twice like she was saying, "yes, I did," while mocking me because I would never know.
Then I remembered the neighbor’s dog, Max. Maybe it was not Luna. Maybe it was Max. Last week, he got into the trash and... you know, Dogs and socks do not mix. I considered going over to confront him but the thought of facing Rob and Max while fully barefoot was terrifying.
I went outside anyway. “Rob!” I called. “Did Max steal my socks?”
Rob opened his door, barefoot like me, and laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes!” I waved my arms. “It is a sock emergency!”
Rob shook his head. “Man I think you just lost them. Maybe in the laundry.”
“No. I triple-checked. I am sure of it. This is a sock abduction.”
Rob laughed harder. “A sock abduction. Okay. Do you want me to help you investigate?”
“Yes.” I felt validated. Finally someone was taking me seriously.
We walked through the neighborhood like detectives. Every garden, every porch, every bush was a potential hiding place. At one point Rob shouted “Found one.” He held up a lone striped sock he had found on the hallway.
“It looks lonely,” he said.
I grabbed it like it was evidence.
“Yes. We are getting closer.”
Hours passed. My feet were cold, my imagination exhausted, and my hope dwindling. Then I noticed something when we went back in. My washing machine door was slightly open.
I opened it. There, crumpled in the corner like little prisoners were all my socks. Every single one. I stared at them. They had not escaped. They had not been abducted. They had simply gotten stuck at the bottom, under a tangle of towels.
Rob laughed. “Detective Chris, the case is closed.”
“I cannot believe it,” I said shaking my head.
“All this drama and they were just in the washing machine.”
Luna jumped on the counter as if to say, "told you so."
I gathered my socks shivering and barefoot no more. “Okay” I said aloud “maybe I am a little dramatic.”
Rob nodded. “Too dramatic.”
That was fine. The mystery was not really about the socks. It was about the chaos, the panic, and the absurdity of imagining an entire sock rebellion. And probably about the fact that I sometimes overthink everything.
I put the socks away, deciding to leave one lonely striped sock on the kitchen table as a trophy for the imaginary sock army.
And Luna slept through it all judging me silently as cats do, and probably thinking I should be more organized next time.