No matter how much time and energy she invested - counting them in the basket, again on the way to the dryer, matching them in her drawer... There always seemed to be one or two strays. Where did all the missing socks end up? She imagines a one legged creature creeping into her bedroom and
selecting it's favourites (always hers too). Could she placate it with some other offering? Would the wily sockhound never be sated?
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