8.24.25: Washing Machine Problems

I’m convinced my washing machine has a personal grudge against me. No matter how carefully I pair my socks, one always vanishes like it’s off to start a new life. I picture it sipping a margarita somewhere with all the missing Tupperware lids and bobby pins. Sometimes I find it days later, stuck to a shirt like it’s clinging to its past. Other times, it’s just gone. Dead to the world. A sacrifice to the laundry gods. At this point, I don’t even buy matching socks anymore. I just embrace the chaos and pretend I’m doing it for the aesthetic.