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 comer 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. 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 apart. If you lose them in the dryer, then you're on your own. When I first began writing this column, a lot of my mail concerned house-keeping issues-should the sheets be ironed? Should a wifi serve her family breakfast wearing rollers and a bathrobe? Of course, back in the 1950s, no one knew about permanent-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't 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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