I defy physics to explain this. Go on, Big Bang Theory guys - cover a white board in squiggles and give me an exasperated glare, because no matter how I puzzle it, I can't figure it out. There is a black hole between my kitchen door and my car. Or is it a time rift? Well, heck, I'm not Stephen Hawking, YOU tell ME what it is!
Every morning, when I leave via my kitchen door, somehow it takes 10 minutes to get from the kitchen to the car. The car is right outside the door! It's not like I have to walk six blocks! The clock in the kitchen says 7:00 AM. The car clock says 7:10 AM.
Now, I can see you shaking your heads condescendingly, saying, "Oh, you silly girl! Clearly one of those clocks is wrong." Well, stop it! Because here's the creepy part - the clock in the kitchen agrees with the local TV stations. The clock in the car agrees with the local radio stations. Explain that! Is there some great time war going on between television and radio, each one insisting the other is wrong and they operate on an atomic clock based precisely on Greenwich Mean Time (GMT)?
Here's what I have deduced - I think it is a black hole and it's sucking my life away, minute by minute! Think about it! Weekends go by in a flash. A week at work lasts FOREVER, but a week on vacation is gone like that! Yep, in one side, out the other and blip! YEARS of your life gone forever.
I think that's what happens to missing socks and car keys and other miscellaneous things that disappear. That's the real secret of those missing socks - they're being sucked into an entirely different dimension inhabited by one footed creatures who covet our footwear!
Sheesh, just getting to work on time is complicated enough without having to deal with black holes and time rifts and quantum physics and wildlife and farm implements on top of it. What? You don't have tractors and deer on your commute?
Well, see there? That's why mine is so complicated.
Throw in a black hole, missing socks, a morning commute, tractors, deer and time lapses and you've got an episode of Doctor Who. Hey... wait a minute! Stephen Moffat, get off my lawn!
Mostly loony, generally harmless. Writer & professional smarty pants. Owned by an exasperated spaniel.