matching socks

a love story

Some people say they married their best friend. I think that’s cheesy.

Julie and I are like two socks that, every time you open the dryer, you only have to find one because the other is right there beside it. They stay together as if the whirling and tumbling, wooshing and swooshing would be very scary for a single sock.

Terrifying.

And that loud buzzing noise to the solitary sock surely heralds impending death, when, for the socks that stay together, one can always remind the other, though they are both awash with fright, that the terrifying buzz signals the end of the cycle and their release to regular temperatures and a tumble-free existence on the other side of that giant door. I married my matching sock. Thus we cling til the tumbling ceases.