I once had a washer repair man tell me that the secret to disappearing socks was in the belly of the washer itself. He explained that when we fill our washer too full, the socks rise to the top and fall over the edge of the drum, ending up in the mechanical works beneath.

Despite having doubts about the validity of this explanation— I had difficulty accepting that in the dark recesses of my washer, hundreds of missing socks could be lurking without affecting the performance of the machine—I told anyone who listened that this was the answer to their missing sock dilemma. I rode on that wave of insider knowledge for years.

But now, I can’t use that excuse. I have a front loader with no place for socks to go AWOL. (I once thought the word AWOL was spelled “A-wall” as in "going over a wall”…Spooky how close I was to the meaning of the word.) I would now have to resort to other explanations to solve the mystery of divorced socks.

Two weeks ago, the partner of my favourite pair of khaki walking socks, my Tilley Endurables; guaranteed for a life time—mine or the socks’?—went missing. The two had become unintentionally separated one wash day when one made the first load, alone.  By the time I found the other sock lying on the stairs from the bedroom, it was too late. Its partner was already spinning in my modern washing machine; the European type that requires an elaborate series of impossible steps in order to stop a wash mid-cycle. (Oh for the days when you could just open the lid and throw something forgotten in!)

And so, I stored away the first (cleaned) sock, in a logical place, until the other had gone through the next load.

A few days later, I had one clean sock in the basket where I keep clean socks, and …only one sock? What had happened to the other? And was it the first sock or the second sock that was missing?

I began my search in the most obvious place; the laundry basket, where it may have ended up again. I also searched the inside of the washer and the dryer, as well as the entire floor of the laundry room.

I checked all of my drawers, especially my underwear drawer, where a stray sock may have gotten mixed up with other undies or had become statically glued to a t-shirt. I went through Jordan’s pile of unmatched khaki socks, which vary just enough in khaki-ness to make them unfit for each other. Have you ever noticed that people who don’t do the laundry make such a big deal about single socks; it’s like they think you do it on purpose!

I would have to widen the search grid to include the linen cupboards. I have found that a favourite hiding spot for smaller items is in the pockets of fitted sheets and inside pillow cases. I had also just washed our duvet cover, so that had to be stripped off and searched. Nothing.

Our cat loves to whisk anything soft—his favourite is gift bows— across the hardwood floors; usually ending up under the sofa or stove. I checked all of these spots to no avail.

I would have to look in more unusual places. I am logical. I once used the Scientific method and found my re-useable coffee filter in my compost bin, fortunately sitting   at the top of the rotting heap!

I tried to imagine for a moment that I was standing there with a sock in my right hand when suddenly I decided to: look for something to eat in the fridge—it wasn’t on top of the fridge or in a crisper; empty the garbage—the thought of going through summer garbage was too gross, even for a special sock; make some tea—it wasn’t on the shelf over the stove or in my tea cupboard; search for an important book—it wasn’t hiding in (or under) any of my bookshelves either.

I had reached what did surely seem to be a dead-end, although I hadn’t actually conceded defeat in my heart. Every time I sat down on the couch I would nonchalantly lift a pillow or afghan; hoping against hope that I might find the errant sock.

Today, all thoughts of lost socks tucked away, I went digging through my chest freezer, trying to decide what to take on our boat trip, and there, near the bottom of the freezer, under two frozen pizzas, a bag of chicken parts, and some lima beans, was the sock….frozen to a blue freezer pack. If the sock had been blue, I would have missed it.

I am stumped; mystified; confounded. I cannot offer any explanation, unless Jordan was trying to get back at me for all his missing socks, but even he wouldn’t have thought of something so devious. I can’t even make up a good story about this, or come up with a sensible piece of advice to pass along to others who have lost a dear sock.  “The next time you lose a sock, try looking in the deep freezer under the peas; you might find it there,” just doesn’t seem to have much validity.

Days like this, you just have to wonder about the strange turns that life sometimes takes.