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RICK MacLEAN: BW? Do you know where my socks are?

They should have been right there. Right where I’d left them. Tucked into a corner, safely out of the way. Waiting for me. Just like always.

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Sure, they are just socks. But they are the socks I sleep in every night. Sure. One of the socks has a hole, growing in significance with each reluctant washing by me, in the heel. But they are the socks I sleep in. Every night.

Not in the washer. I checked. Not in the dryer. I checked. Besides, since I’m back to cycling 60 kilometres a day, five to six days a week, I generate a lot of ‘not suitable for handling’ cycling gear – shorts, shirts, gloves, headband, arm sleeves, tights for colder days.

Translation: I do my own laundry and chuck in precious things like my socks with the bunch, then pull them out of the dryer after. It’s amazing how the sock monster suddenly loses its appetite for making socks disappear when there’s only one person keeping an eye on it.

Age and a couple of ‘not-related-to-running/biking’ knee injuries means I’m never in a hurry to get down on all fours to start probing under something. But these were my socks. The ones I sleep in. Every. Night.

Nothing. Well, a few dusty bunnies, but they weren’t bothering me, so I didn’t bother them.

The sock drawer? No way. Those socks are either on my feet or headed to the washer/dryer until warm weather retires them until the fall. I checked anyway. As predicted. Not there.

RICK MacLEAN: University? Go or no? Tough........

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