You must buy socks by the pair

SCOTT MORRIS

The salesman at Dillard's sounded a little baffled when I asked if he could sell socks in singles instead of pairs.

I explained that my sons keep losing their socks, one at a time.

"I've got a whole Kroger sack full of mismatched socks," I said. "Help me out here, man. I'm just trying to make some complete pairs."

"They usually come in packs," answered the sales associate, Terry Whitmon.

"Can't you open them up and let me buy the ones I need?"

"No sir, we might lose money."

"What if I buy whole packs, pick out the ones I want and then return the rest. Can I get half my money back?"

"I don't believe so," Terry answered.

"Even if I have a receipt?"

"If it was just up me, I'd let you," he said, laughing, "but Dillard's would probably get mad."

I don't want to get Terry or anybody else into trouble, but I do want to find mates for all these lonely socks. And I want to know where the lost ones go.

One acquaintance joked they escape through a hole in the "hozone." Singer-songwriter Steve Taylor said they go to sock heaven. My son, Seth, claimed the manufacturers include one sock in every pair that disintegrates in the dryer, which boosts sales and explains the fuzz in the lint basket.

With size 12½, 11½ and 8½ feet running around our house, it's tough to distinguish between all the large foot-liners so I buy three different styles of athletic socks. Perhaps it would be better to buy one kind and equally divide the spoils after laundry day.

Even that solution has complications, however, because Seth and Caleb's friends leave socks that I've never seen before.

Teaching a boy not to lose his socks is like instructing him to turn off lights, close the refrigerator door and remove muddy shoes before entering the house. It just doesn't stick.

Perhaps the mystery of lost socks is better left unsolved, considering the state's economic dependence on textiles. Fort Payne is the Sock Capital of the World and one in every four pairs of socks in the United States is made in Alabama, according to the National Association of Hosiery Manufacturers.

But I've done my share to support the industry. Now I'm willing to wreck the economy to keep my Kroger bag of mateless socks from expanding.

I dreamed up a few solutions. What about sock shackles to connect each pair? You could leave enough slack to allow some freedom of movement.

Or we could adopt an international standard that requires manufacturers to make all socks identical. That way you could at least combine two lost mates to make a complete pair.

Better yet, we could establish a sock swap right here in Decatur where people could exchange mates. With the mayor's blessing, we could book it for the Days Inn and promote it through the chamber of commerce.

I thought about charging all my socks on MasterCard because the company promises to replace certain stolen products purchased with its credit cards, but there's a sock loophole.

The guarantee doesn't cover "items that mysteriously disappear without any evidence of a wrongful act."

That left me with no where to turn but Dillard's, which is known for its service.

Terry the sales associate was polite, but adamant that he can't sell socks one at a time.

"Try the Salvation Army," he suggested.

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You must buy socks by the pair