Dear Ann Landers,
I have indeed been asked the question before. The best response came from Nancy Drechsler of North Carolina: Oh where, oh where is the other sock? Is it under the bed, or caught in the casters, Or clinging to the basement rafters? Trapped in the plumbing? Stuffed in a shoe? In a darkened corner Hiding from you? Have they gone to camp and returned alone? Been kicked off, perhaps, by the telephone? An argyle a starling's home, Striped sock found its way to Rome? Perhaps there is an odd sock elf, Who takes them to some woodsy shelf. But truthfully, I know their fate The dirty ones disintegrate. Dear Nancy: It's true. Old socks never die. They just fade away. ANN LANDERS In a later column, a reader gave me a more logical explanation: Single socks often get caught in the agitator and flip between the drum and the side of the washer. You can find them if you ever take the machine apai~t. If you lose them, in the dryer.; then you're on your own. When 1 first began writing this column, a lot of my mail concerned house-keeping issues-shoidd the sheets be ironed? Should a wife seme her family breakfast wearing rollers and a bathrobe? Of course, back in the 1950s, no one knew about peimanent-press linens nor would anyone consider telling the husband to pitch in-after all, most women stayed at home, and housework was their job. When I told a reader that she didn yt need to apologize for being in her bathrobe when she greeted a salesman at 9:00 in the morning, all hell broke loose. This is what happened in 1958:

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