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missing socks

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Daniel Dunaief

By Daniel Dunaief

Yes! Republicans have retaken the house.

Now, we can really get down to some important, democracy building and unifying investigations. Undoubtedly, these investigations will get to the bottom of some important political questions that people absolutely want answered.

Hunter Biden is and will be a prime target. How can he not be? If you look at some of the pictures of him that newspapers have found, he looks guilty, and that should be more than enough. Besides, who doesn’t like a few insightful, incisive and critical First Family questions?

Once they finish — assuming they can get it done in two years — with the important questions, I have ideas for investigations that I’d like to lob in as well. They range from the obvious, to the quirky to the frivolous, but, I figured I might as well make my suggestions now.

I’m going to write it here because you know it’s inevitable. Hillary Clinton. She might be a private citizen now, and she might have run for office six years ago, but she’s got to be responsible for something. Maybe she knocked the nose off the sphinx. Or maybe she tilted the Tower of Pisa. Come on, she’s got to have done something wrong.

I’d like to know why my email fills with stuff I talk about, but don’t type into my computer. Is someone listening? My wife and I might discuss a trip to Bora Bora and then, the next morning, I find an invitation to visit. Is someone listening all the time?

Jose Altuve. The Houston Astros star second baseman, whom baseball fans in other stadiums, particularly Yankee Stadium, love to hate, still seems to be operating under a cloud of suspicion. Did he cheat? Did he have a tattoo that he didn’t want anyone to see when his teammates seemed poised to tear off his jersey many years ago against the Yankees? Is it safe for purist baseball fans to root for him again? Will he be eligible for the Hall of Fame someday?

Open Water. Did you see the movie? It was incredibly popular. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but, well, I’m going to do it anyway. These two people suffer through endless torment and fear after their boat leaves them behind while they are scuba diving. It’s not a feel good movie. Injured, cold and miserable, they try to fight off sharks — guess who wins that one? Afterward, I overheard someone say, “seriously? I watched those people for two hours for that?”

Jan. 6th. There’s likely to be a committee investigating the committee investigating the riots. Fine. But wouldn’t it throw Democrats, Republicans and conspiracy theorists for a loop if another committee then investigated the committee that investigated the original committee? It’d be like seeing images several times in a combination of mirrors.

Tom Brady. Okay, I know he’s not having his usual spectacular world-beating season, but the guy is 45 and strong, muscular, athletic 20-year-olds are putting everything they have into throwing him to the ground. How is he still functioning? He’s not playing golf. Did someone replace him with a robot? Has he discovered some magical diet or fountain of youth that makes it possible to compete at such a high level when he’s at such an advanced age? I throw a ball with my son, and it takes me a week for my arm to recover. The world needs to hear his secrets.

Socks. I’m not particular about my socks. White ones that go above my ankle are fine. Most of the time, I buy socks that look like the ones I already own, which makes matching them pretty easy. And yet, somehow, I wind up with an odd sock more often than not. Where is that missing sock? Is someone stealing socks from dryers?

Asparagus. I kind of like the taste, but I’d prefer that my pee didn’t smell later. Can’t someone do something about it? It’s the only vegetable that has that effect. Let’s figure out a better-smelling asparagus.

Daniel Dunaief

By Daniel Dunaief

reader wrote in to request a column about the search for missing items. The following is my attempt to oblige that request.

Right now, someone, somewhere is looking for something. Whatever it is, a birthday card bought three months ago for that special day tomorrow, a scarf that matches an outfit perfectly or a piece of paper from an art store for a critical presentation, will cost less in time and money to purchase anew than the time it takes to search through the house.

And yet most people don’t want to give up the search because they figure they’ll find it, save themselves the trip and prove to their spouses that they aren’t completely hopeless.

The search for stuff can go from the manic “Where’s my hat, where’s my hat, where’s my hat,” to the humorous “Oh, haaat, where are you? Come to me, hat. Wouldn’t you like to share a spring day outside?” to the gritted-teeth angry “I know I put the hat here and it’s not here, which means it either walked away on its own or someone picked it up and put it somewhere else.”

When stuff disappears, we return to the same location over and over, searching the closet, flipping the cushions off the couch repeatedly, only to put them back and throw them off again, hoping that, somehow, the magic that caused the item to disappear will bring it back through our frantic search.

Most of us aren’t like Seinfeld or my super-organized sister-in-law, whose garage is probably better coordinated and arranged than most Home Depots. I recognize, of course, that my wife and I are on the other end of that spectrum. I’m not sure how the people with the organizational gene do it. I look at a pile of stuff and separate out everything into broad categories. There’s junk I might need outside, junk I might need inside, junk I can’t readily identify — and then I stare at it.

At some point, my frustration at my inability to sort through it becomes sufficiently high that I put the pile back together and, lo and behold, the junk makes it almost impossible to find one specific item, even if what I seek is in that pile. My life is filled with figurative haystacks and my ability and my patience to search for the needles is minimal.

When I’m hunting for something, I close my eyes and try to retrieve from my memory the last time I saw it. Aha! I think. It was in the living room. No, maybe the dining room. No, no, I’m sure it was the kitchen.

Sometimes, I break down and buy the stupid item again, knowing that I need a specific type of tape, a matching pair of socks or something that I can’t fake having because something like it —- a Hawaiian shirt versus a button-down Oxford shirt — just won’t do.

When I return with the desired item, I take a moment to try to figure out where best to put it so I can find it again the next day or in a week, if I’m that organized. I walk slowly around the house, examining the piles of stuff that I just searched through, knowing that the piles are seeking recruits to join them. I come across an unusual and little used location, which I’m sure I’ll remember. As I find the perfect place for the redundant item, far from the all-consuming clutter, I sometimes discover that the joke’s on me: The original birthday card or missing sock await in exactly the same location.