Revenge of the Sock Conspiracy

I'm not sure if I blogged about the Sock Conspiracy before, and if I did it was a long time ago, so I'll recap:

As we all know, washing machines eat socks. Put a load of socks in the machine for washing, and by the time the cycle is done, one or more socks (but never a whole pair) will have been taken as tribute by the beast. Such is the natural order of things, and not to be questioned.

Except that I questioned it, and found a horrifying truth. For, many years ago, I started washing my own socks, and found that the washing machine didn't take its tribute. I thought this must be some mistake, but as the weeks went by without tribute being taken, I grew convinced: it was not the washing machine that was eating the socks.

It turned out that I had tumbled to the existence of the Sock Conspiracy, a dark truth known to all women since time beyond reckoning, that was now threatened by the advent of Feminism. For what would happen is that they would take the socks for washing, wash the socks, and then eat one or more socks (but never a whole pair). (I presume they ate the socks after washing, as the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.) This, then, would create a constant need for new socks on the part of men, allowing the easy purchase of Christmas presents by women.

(This one time, at Band Camp, I was expounding on this conspiracy to one of my students, for reasons that I'm sure seemed obvious at the time, when she exclaimed, "Yes, Mum does do that!" So, I have proof! However, I haven't seen the girl in question for three years... what if she's been disappeared? Oh no!)

Anyway, having found the dark secret of the Sock Conspiracy, I found myself immune to their depradations, or so I thought. No more would I lose socks to the 'washing machine'. (I thought I'd lost one once, but it turned out I'd just dropped it.) No more would I have to wear Christmas socks in June, because those were the only ones left. I had won!

Bwa-hahahaha!

But there is a problem, a dread revenge that the Sock Conspiracy has wreaked upon me.

The last time I bought socks was three years ago, when I travelled and then found I had forgotten to pack any. Since that day, I have seen the quality of my socks gradually drop, inch by painful inch, until this day, when I find myself bereft of good socks. For the past week, I have been wearing three pairs at a time, carefully lining them up so that the holes in one sock are covered by the remnants of a second. But even that measure is proving less effective as time passes. I fear I shall soon have to wear all my socks at all times merely to maintain coverage, and one day even that shall not be enough.

I'm not sure how this could have happened. I can only presume that on that fateful night when I purchased the new socks, the checkout assistant recognised my victory over the Sock Conspiracy, and thus placed a hex on me that my socks would inevitably degrade to the point of uselessness. Alas, my efforts to remove this curse have thus far been unsuccessful.

Whatever shall I do?