I needed clean underwear and socks so I started doing laundry. And while sorting everything into various piles, an odd thought struck me. This happens because I listen to heavy metal when I do housework. Apparently the drug induced state of rock stars influences listeners. Anyway, what I thought was this; what really happened to Jimmy Hoffa?
Some of you may not know who Jimmy Hoffa was. He was a short guy with hairy feet who traveled the countryside looking for a volcano, had a best friend named Frodo and was obsessed with a ring. No, I’m kidding, that’s really the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Jimmy Hoffa was a powerful man, possibly with Mafia connections, who had a good shot at the presidency. What prompted my curiosity, aside from the loud music, is that just like Jimmy Hoffa some socks and underwear turned up missing.
I have seventeen mismatched pairs of socks. And I’m certain I have ten pairs of underwear even though I’ve only located three. Somewhere in this house are seven pairs of underwear and seventeen socks that, if I find, could cut my next undergarment budget in half.
I’m a red-blooded man, and as such refuse to buy new underwear when perfectly good ones are playing hooky. And by perfectly good underwear I mean they still have molecular strands of material holding them together. (Men are committed to their underwear.) As for my socks, a man can never have enough socks. Have you smelled our feet? Rotating socks is vital in foot odor management.
I checked the lint screen, thinking maybe my socks disintegrated in the dryer. Unfortunately I’d already cleaned the screen and threw the lint away. So if the lint was part sock fluff, it now included coffee grinds as well. I did find one pair of underwear behind the lint screen. But it was red and lacy, which I’d only claim in certain circumstances.
More searching produced odds and ends like pens, erasers, and prehistoric peppermint candies. So I decided to settle on a theory. I believe that somewhere, possibly near Chicago, Jimmy Hoffa is using my socks to cover his hairy feet. I don’t want to know what he’s doing with my underwear.