This is an editing response to this writing prompt:
A clean sock is thrown into the dirty laundry. Write for 5 minutes without stopping. Edit later.
Richard’s cozy nap on the edge of the bed was rudely interrupted when he found himself catapulted through the air. He wondered, as he flew, why these things happened to him. When he realized just where he was headed, he groaned. Not again. He landed on a soft pile of sweaty running shorts, halfway down the laundry hamper.
And here I sit, a clean sock in the dirty laundry. Seriously, it wasn’t fair. Even still reeking of Woolite, he would stay here, gradually smothered in a growing mass of stains and smells, waiting for the blessed release of laundry day. How many days until then? He tried to count, but his calculations were interrupted by a sassy pair of pink polka-dotted tennis socks.
“Oh, no,” he moaned, pasting on an insincere smile.
“Richard! We never see you anymore!” said the socks with a little shake of their pom-poms. Bells. Good grief, she had bells on those pom-poms. Silly little half socks, he thought— then chastised himself. No one could choose how they looked. After all, he told himself, she was only polyester. She couldn’t help being a lightweight.
His moment of good will was broken a moment later when he heard: “You’re alone? Where’s Seamus?”
He tried to hold onto his manly wool shape. But inwardly he felt like the time the kids had used him as a bag to carry beach rocks. Misshapen. Heavy. Sand grinding into his very fiber.
Where was Seamus? Right now, his partner was probably lying comfortably in the sweet-smelling sock drawer, enjoying the extra space. Did he miss Richard? Just a little?
Really, they were well-paired. Their relationship just worked. It didn’t matter who took the left foot or right foot–they knew what to do, and they fell in perfectly with each other. Yes, they were both getting a little out of shape from assisting with too many hiking trips, but that was to be expected with aging wool. “Seamus should be here,” Richard thought bitterly. “Or I should be there.” He was filled with longing. The dark quiet of the sock drawer seemed very far away.
“Separated?” said the tennis socks, fairly glowing with pink, polka-dotted innuendo.
How could he answer? Temporarily? Not by choice? Human error? That just sounded pathetic.
Luckily, the urgency to reply was blunted by a pair of Duluth Trading Company briefs landing on them all, cutting the conversation (to coin a phrase) short.
Notes:
The title of this story, Put a Sock in It, is a slang phrase that means “Quit complaining.” Here it’s also used literally–a real sock is feeling sorry for himself because he’s been put in the dirty laundry!
A lightweight is someone who’s not considered important or who doesn’t have much influence. It’s not a nice thought to have about someone. Here, the polyester sock is physically lighter than the wool sock, and the wool sock also thinks she’s not too bright.
The word separated can be used to describe a marriage in trouble. The pair is no longer living together (they are separated). Here, the two socks are physically separated (not in the same place) and Richard worries that the other socks will think his partner wants to end the relationship. Why are they not together if everything is going well?
Shorts are a type of underwear* also called briefs. Here, a pair of briefs falls on Richard, ending his conversation early. He is cut short by a pair of shorts.
*The short pants both men and women wear in hot weather are also called shorts.