I confess: I kinda like doing laundry. I find the chore of sorting colors and whites rather soothing and the sounds of a tumbling dryer, a familiar comfort. Because I wind up folding clothes during our nightly DVR catch-up, this mindless task comes full circle as my day wraps up. I wish all household tasks didn’t require me to expend that much energy (for instance, I loath loading/emptying the dishwasher)…as long as the batch of clothes I’m folding doesn’t reveal any mismatched socks. No matter how much my family tries to keep those pairs together, a lone sock somehow ends up without his mate, and that’s just no fun. Where does that illusive sock go, I sometimes wonder? Could he have taken on another persona, [&hellip