This Is a Story About a Sock

For my entire existence, I have been nothing but a part of a pair. I am not seen as an individual. And why would I be? I am nothing without my mate. We have always been just that – a we. And truthfully, they were the only one who really fit with me. I never match with anyone quite as well. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Sure, I experimented some. There were the awkward, teenage rebellion years where I had flings with others often, but those “relationships”, if you can even call them that, never lasted long. Sometimes, I still find myself with someone other than my other half. But it is always in a flustered moment of weakness, and they almost always resemble the one I’m meant to be with. I can’t get away from them, even if I want to.

Today, I was just one in a crowd, lounging around, and waiting for my mate. It had been another normal day. We worked together for a bit longer today, maybe, but now we’ve been off-duty for a bit longer than normal as well. It all balances out.

Now, when we go on break, the first thing we do, almost always, is go to the locker rooms to wait for our chance to get clean. I was first in the line-up and didn’t get a chance to buddy up before I was gone, spinning as the group was cleaned somewhat roughly. But we were all used to the pounding water and odd method of drying by now. This group was all veterans, and that was one of the first things you learned at this job.

As I waited, clean and dry in the crowd of others like, but not, me, I heard another batch let out of the drying chamber and reasoned that my match would now be clean. I pulled myself apart from the crowd some, looking for the minute details that made us perfect together. My soul mate. My sole mate, too. We were together again, refreshed, warm, and ready to go off and fight once more against cold, fungus, and any other surprise enemies, for next to no reward. But don’t worry about us; it’s okay. That’s just what we socks do.