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No less than the theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking once focused his attention on the mystery of losing socks. Like many others, he wanted to know where they ended up. As explained in a book called "The Essence of Time and Space", he concluded that spontaneous black holes are the reason for their disappearance.

Hawking's conclusion may be witty, but his curiosity is not surprising. The socks stuff is really annoying.

In 2012, Professor Stephen Hawking posed next to a light called "Black Hole Light" in the Science Museum of London. Image source: PHILIP TOSCONO

After all, most of us have two feet. We take off our socks (count: two); we throw them all into the washing machine (the other count: two more); then, after various forms of drying, we sort the laundry and start putting them in pairs Together.

At this point, in each wash, at least one sock lost its pair. What's even stranger is that a pair of socks that you lose are always your favorite socks.

I'm not trying to compete with Stephen Hawking in terms of scientific rules, but something husky, nylon, and tartan will somehow never lose its pair.

In order to prove my theory, I would like to show you that terrible and nasty pair I got three years ago. I wear them now.

In any case, as time goes by, more and more cute socks and widows' socks are piled up in the mountains, forcing everyone who owns socks to make a choice.

They are many options for revealing ourselves.

There is a personality type — let's call them cold rationalists — they give each sock two weeks to reunite with the twins. If not: get out.

We can pause to understand what this means. This means being thrown into the trash can, along with the fat of the dirty diapers and the lamb chops we cut off, because we think we are on a diet. We expressed insult to that poor sock for no better reason, because it is no longer a member of some kind of comfortable sock.

Talk about insensitivity. Talk about prejudice.

We treat singles socks, in other words, just like travel companies treat singles. Complete contempt. If you are not part of a comfortable couple, you must pay an additional fee.

Then consider the alternative again. Another personality type can be called a stupid optimist. This is someone whose glass is always half full. This description also fits their ironing basket. Half full? Already three-quarters full. It's completely orphan socks.

The weekly ironing and tidying started from this moment of failure. Oh I got it. I am the owner of 57 socks, and I have never fully owned socks for agency, or get up and walk around, or purely vicious bloody thoughts.

The socks, once paired happily, always seem to disappear in Glover's house.

"I am the loser of life", this is what you mumble to yourself when you struggle through a single sock and try to retrieve your shirt. "I need to find a way to say goodbye to these fragments of my past and be reborn," you murmured. "If I could do it with socks, I could do it with my horrible brothers and sisters, the boss I work for, and the bastards I met at school parties."

All this came to mind in the minds of the hoarders of single sock. However, in socks and life, hope is often the wisest approach.

Next week, you might turn on the dryer and find five singles huddled against the wall, waiting to be reunited. You can put them together and finally reunite them with their long-lost partners. It is so happy.

These desperate optimists are more organized and tie the widow’s socks together to create a waving image called the "sock cat". They believe that in this way, individual socks will not be mixed with those that are still in pairs, and perhaps their influence will poison them.

"Look at me, look at me, I'm not a couple anymore. You should try it. It's great. Most importantly, I don't have to be dragged to his fat feet so I can spend time there. , Um, a day of oppression."

Of course, if Hawking is right, even "Sock Cat" represents meaningless hope. Once a sock is sucked into the black hole, it will never come back again.

The only realistic socks policy may be the one advocated by Ralph Nader, an American consumer advocate. In 1959, he was known for buying four dozen identical black socks, so—in the coming decades—every new single could find a partner in another person who just lost a pair of socks.

However, Nader's solution does not mean that we can sit back and relax in the mystery of life. Other problems are beckoning, just waiting for Stephen Hawking's consideration in the future.

Why do you drive on a country road and often put a boot on the side of the road? Is there a one-legged man who just bought a pair of new shoes and decided to throw it out the window to get rid of the boots he didn't want? Is claiming long paddock an ancient rural system?

Why is there always crumbs on the bottom of the cutlery drawer, even in families where they never bake bread?

Perhaps the solo roadside boots were eventually sucked into a black hole, replacing some unnecessary socks, and they returned to the earth in the form of debris.

It would be great if Hawking was still working on these numbers.

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