While clearing out the cupboards to give out school stuff I revisited after a gap a drawer of socks.
They represented a range of sizes; it was hard to make up matching pairs. The perception triggered a memory that made me laugh. Socks of school going kids have a strange way of getting bereaved. The prudence was never to throw the widowed one away, but to hold on in the expectation of another sock being bereaved. In time jams with the watch ticking, one individual from a partner less pair usually made up a couple with another sad single.And so the matchmaking of odd couples saved many a day when the clock loomed large.
Thing of the past I realize. I miss those exasperating times.
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