Ron Sexsmith released a new album yesterday. My running socks are disappearing at an alarming rate.
Are these two things related? No.
However, every time I do laundry, I think of Ron Sexsmith. That’s because one day about six years ago, I walked into my neighbourhood laundromat — a tiny place just off of Trinity Bellwoods Park in Toronto — and was greeted by this face:
Though I’d seen him in concert before, I couldn’t place him. Granted, Ron was not wearing a dress shirt. Nor was he doing anything obvious that would give him away, say, announcing, “I’m Ron Sexsmith” or singing one of his songs and drumming a beat on a drying machine. Midway through my laundry excursion, I realized who he was and proceeded to say…nothing. Not a word.
I regret that now. Maybe he would have autographed my laundry basket. Or perhaps we could have swapped laundry tips. What if Ron Sexsmith holds the magical laundry secret that eludes the rest of humanity — how to keep socks from disappearing — and I missed the chance to find it out?
See, this is how my favourite running socks from Lululemon look when I buy them. Note there are two:
And here’s how they look after a few weeks and a few rounds of laundry, when one sock inevitably goes missing. Note we are down to one:
(Don’t worry — though the other sock went missing, my other foot did not.)
All I can do is hope that my laundry skills pick up, because I can’t afford to keep losing one sock of a duo. And, besides that, it’s just annoying.
I also plan on picking up Ron’s new album, Long Player Late Bloomer, at some point this week. Maybe he can autograph it for me — and impart laundry tips — when he’s in Calgary at the end of the month.