I have decided that my socks evidently have deep personal grudges against each other and are sworn enemies. That is the only way to explain it.
Let me back up.
Last year I took the time one night to go through all my socks and actually match them up.
I ended up with more without mates than had mates.
After writing that, my dear sweet friend, Margaret, bought me a million pairs of socks, trouser socks, regular socks, black socks, gray socks, brown socks, you name it, I had it. I was the Donald Trump of socks. I came home thrilled beyond belief (it's the little things, right?) and got rid of all the socks that did not have mates.
Tonight I was doing the laundry and trying to match up my socks again. No, not the first time since last year, but since I ran out of matched socks this week, decided to take a little extra time to ensure that everyone had a partner.
I easily have as many that no longer have partners as do. It really does not make sense! I put both socks into the washer, then the dryer together.
So I have decided I know what happens once the lid is shut and the lights go out.
I think it must be like the movie, Fight Club, and the socks square off against their mates and battle it out to the death and only one is allowed to come out the victor.
That is the ONLY plausible explanation.