The Lost Sock Memorial · An imaginary memorial for missing socks Loose ends.

Purchased in a three-pack. Distinguished himself immediately. Survived four moves, one dog, and a hot wash that took two of his brothers.

Entered the dryer on an ordinary Thursday and did not emerge. The machine was emptied twice and the drum turned by hand. Nothing was found behind the seal.

His partner remains in the drawer, folded, waiting.

Worn eleven times, all in December. Kept in a shoebox with the lights for the other fifty weeks of the year, which the household now believes was the safest arrangement it ever had.

Went into a mixed load on January 2 and was not accounted for at the folding. Its partner has been retained and will be worn alone.

Darned twice at the heel by a grandmother who did not approve of throwing things away. Outlived her by four years.

Went into a delicate cycle and was not recovered. The household continues to check coat pockets.

Present for a personal best of 143 in 2018. Held responsible for every decent game thereafter, while poor results were attributed to the lane.

Failed to return from the wash before the league final. Its owner bowled 167 in a borrowed pair and has asked that this not be the focus of the tribute.

Named by a child, and answered to it. Worn almost exclusively indoors.

Lost in a load run at a laundromat on a Sunday, which the family now regards as an avoidable risk.

Bought for a hiking trip that was later canceled. Wore instead to work, most days, for five years.

Last accounted for in a warm load with two towels. The towels came back.

Remained at the hotel after a weekend described as just what everyone needed. Was not discovered missing until the suitcase was unpacked nine days later.

The room had been checked carefully before departure. This consisted of looking at the bed and saying, 'Got everything?'

We hope it got a late checkout.

One of six identical socks, which made the loss difficult to date and impossible to dispute.

Noticed absent in the spring. Presumed lost the previous autumn.

Worn to two weddings and one interview that went well. Regarded by its owner as the better of the pair, though both were the same.

Last seen going into the machine. Not seen coming out of it.

Belonged to a woman who labeled everything else she owned.

Went missing from a shared machine in a building with six apartments. Inquiries were made and politely dropped.

Bought in a hurry on the morning of a funeral. Served at four more.

Disappeared in a load with a black shirt, where it may still be.

Bought at a departure gate for eleven euros after a bag went astray. Worn for six days.

Lost in the first wash it was ever given. The shortest tenure in the register.

Known for a seam that sat wrong and was never comfortable. Kept for eleven years regardless.

Its absence was noticed with some relief, which the submitter wishes on record as a regret.

Borrowed for one night in 2021 and never given back, by agreement.

Lost from the borrower's machine, which both parties consider the correct outcome.

Prescribed for the right leg only, and issued without a partner. The only sock in the register with nobody left in the drawer.

Putting it on took practice. Taking it off took a doorframe.

Replaced at a cost H. would like noted. The replacement fits exactly as well and has not been forgiven.

One of the last pairs bought before a house move, and the only survivor of that box.

Went missing in the second wash at the new address.

Spent most outings working its way beneath the arch of a foot. Retrieval required a bench and a short private struggle.

When it finally disappeared altogether, its owner assumed it was still in the shoe. The shoe was shaken over a wastebasket. Then the wastebasket had to be searched.

Sold as invisible. A complaint feels difficult to justify.

Bought for a yoga class. Found a more suitable role carrying its owner between the sofa and the refrigerator. Its excellent traction was particularly valued on the return journey, when both hands were full.

Missing since the sofa cushions were removed for cleaning. A remote control and enough money for a small coffee were recovered, but nobody considered this a fair exchange.

Waited seven years beside a spare phone charger for someone to step in a puddle. On the morning it was finally needed, only its partner was there.

A gift for someone who was very clear that they wanted books. Won them over eventually. Accompanied the first forty pages of several ambitious novels and the entirety of a much less ambitious one.

Last seen between the bed and the wall. Moving the bed to look for it became a task for the weekend, then a reason to wait until the room was repainted.

Its partner is currently marking page 41.