An evil and distant cousin of the Tooth Fairy lives in my residence hall. There’s this bedraggled sweatpants-wearing groggy-looking messy-haired hairy-armed thing that prowls the corridors (no wait! that’s me! begin again.) There’s this invisible wing-fluttering shimmery frock-wearing black-eyed and pointy-eared little thing that flutters around the sun-lit basement (Yes!!!! The basement is sun lit and there’s not a ray of sunshine in my room! They call themselves architects! Line em up and shoot em!) Ok. Too many digressions. The evil fairy lives in the laundry room and steals my socks. She probably makes puppets out of them, or lines the nests of pigeons with them, or makes duvets and sleeping bags for fairyfolk, and she obviously sells them as unique designer items because she never takes both socks of a pair, she only takes one.
I keep a sharp eye out for socks going missing due to my neglect. I examine the insides of the washing machine to see if a sock is stuck somewhere (once I found five pence, but no sock). I do all that I can, but what use is it battling against sprites?
The Sock Fairy has ruined four pairs so far. You never can catch a glimpse of her, but she is there. Maybe it’s an American chain and they have outlets in every Laundromat? Nothing to be done except speculate. And sell the four single socks I have with me as fairy duvets. All washed of course!
P.S.: No. I have NOT eaten them by mistake. British food tastes like socks but isn’t as soft and chewy!