There are things that stump me. Like socks. Specifically, socks I have worn once. To me, they are fraught with ambiguity. I know what to do with underpants I have worn once: they go in the dirty clothes. For other articles of clothing – pants, skirts, shirts, sweaters – the issue is not how many times they’ve been worn, it’s more a matter or whether they still look and smell clean to me. This is how I determine whether their destination is the dresser drawer or the dirty clothes hamper.
And then there are socks. I am so uncertain of them after I’ve worn them once that, in my puzzlement, I do not return them to my sock drawer on the off chance that they are now too dirty and will thus defile the other freshly cleaned socks. Nor do I throw them in the dirty clothes. I am loath to create more laundry for myself than absolutely necessary and what if they aren’t yet dirty enough to warrant being washed?.
So, currently, my socks reside on the floor of our bedroom. Where, in awhile, when they have swirled around sufficiently with the dust bunnies, I will deem them too dirty to wear and throw them in the laundry.
I am unhappy with this solution to my sock dilemma.