Sunday I was feeling somewhat melancholy having missed the Lost Checkered Sox performance Friday night. As a practitioner of good mental hygiene I realized a change of outlook was needed. So I decided to take advantage of the crisp, sunny fall day to sit in the sun contemplating and cogitating upon lost checkered socks and what their relationship to the Great washing machine mystery.

I speak of course of the apparent appetite of washing machines for devouring the odd sock. We all know that the idea of washing machines eating socks is ridiculous. Which leaves us to address what exactly is the fate of a missing sock and where do they go?