Tommi’s grandmother makes these wonderful hand-knitted wool socks for us every time we go visit her in Finland. They are really soft and warm and made in pretty colors and patterns. Exactly the sort of thing you’d imagine a rosy-cheeked Nordic grandmother sitting at home making on a winter’s night. I think we had collected five or six pairs between us.
So this past Sunday, we had our first cleaning binge of the month and I did 11 loads of laundry while T tackled the bathroom and vacuuming. The laundry room is right next to us, but I have to walk back and forth between our apartment and there several times to get all the clothes and keep the machines rotating. At some point, that load of socks and a couple of my lay-flat-to-dry wool sweaters got hijacked. The sweaters were designer, so I guess that was inevitable. The socks, though? That’s what really pissed me off, because those things had real sentimental value on top of being damn comfy.
I mean, really, who steals somebody’s load of socks?! Yet I remember explicitly going through each machine and checking afterward to make sure I’d collected everything. All my machines were empty. They were all empty. And the socks and sweaters are gone.
Speechless, man. Outraged speechlessness. What more can I say? Somebody stole our socks!
