I’ve been out these last few days, so took the opportunity today to catch up on some laundry. I’m quite lucky these days in that I get through sufficiently few clothes, I can get by with a launder every couple of weeks.

My bedsheet was a bit smelly, so I decided to wash that today too. So to do that I had to strip the bed. Ironically, I use the bed as a dumping-ground for freshly-laundered clothes. Sometimes the clothes are put away but I generally gave up on anything fancy-ass after the stroke. For the same reason, I don’t iron. Have you ever tried ironing one-handed? If someone looks at me and thinks dishevelled, well, that’s their problem, not mine. The people who know me, they understand.

Anyway, in order to strip the bed, I first have to divest if of its pile of clean washing. In amongst which, there are three odd socks. WTF?

When a pair of socks is dirty, it goes into the laundry basket. As a pair. Come wash day, everything gets lifted from the laundry basket into the washing machine. I check, the basket is empty. Then on into the tumble dryer (even if I could hang stuff out, not in November!). Then, several hours later, onto the bed. Each time, I check the trail, Nothing. And yet there are three bloody odd socks on the bed!

Now I could put this down to stroke. Quite plausibly, my eyes aren’t so good any more. But my wife says the same thing happens to her, and her eyesight is good.

The only thing is that I can never remember this happening before the stroke. I laundered for years, and don’t remember losing a thing!

So I’m sitting here in one grey and one blue sock. Well, I’m not going to throw the bloody things away, am I? I’m just dreading tomorrow – one of my feet will be freezing! And, I’ve concluded that some sadistic sod has started stealing our socks! Come on, own up, it isn’t YOU, is it?

Author: Mister Bump UK

Formerly Stroke Survivor UK. Designed/developed IT systems for banks, but had a stroke in 2016, aged 48. Returned to developing from home, plus do some voluntary work. Married, with a grown-up, left-home daughter.

7 thoughts on “Odd”

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