In a pile in the living room are two socks, a vest, and thermals (all Yitzchak’s), as well as a shirt (Shlomo’s). (There were toys underneath this pile, but they have since been discovered and put away.) In the middle of the living room floor are another two socks: one Yitzchak’s, one Shlomo’s. There are also two dirty shirts of Shlomo’s, and two pairs of his pants (all from today – we double-layer).
Me (to Yitzchak): “We’re missing two socks, one of yours and one of Shlomo’s. I think missing socks are genetic. Arrrggg.” (Obviously, since Yitzchak is definitely the one passed on the gene, I am free of this fault.)
Yitzchak pulls a sock off his foot, and throws it on the floor behind me. “Here’s the missing sock. Maybe you should check next time that it’s not on my foot.”
Me: “Where? I don’t see it.”
Yitzchak points to where it landed, crumpled into a ball. “Over there, see?”
Me: “Thanks. Now we’re just missing one of Shlomo’s.”
Yitzchak: “Say it: ‘I was wrong’.”
Me: “Fine, I was wrong; your sock is not missing. It could still be genetic, though.”
We look around the room. We are also missing two cardboard Thomas the Tank books from the set. I decide not to bother looking for them until morning. I am about to give up on the sock, as well (or at least look in the bedroom, instead), when Yitzchak has an idea.
Yitzchak: “You know, Shlomo’s sock might actually still be on his foot.”
YItzchak: “Could be.”
Me: “Can you go check?”
(Shlomo is sleeping, but he usually kicks off his covers. Yitzchak goes in to check.)
Yitzchak: “Yeah, it’s on his foot. My right sock was on my right foot, and his right sock was on his right foot!” He laughs.
Me: (laughing) “See, I told you it was genetic!”