Separation and sudden change pose an existential threat to a pair of socks.
Red-and-white socks Phil and Dale glory in the washing machine’s thrill ride, ignoring grumpy, repressive comments from the other laundry: “Woah Spin Cycle!” they shout. Then Phil suddenly disappears. Dale searches high and low (“There’s a load of guys like you over there,” offers a pair of friendly green underpants), lodging temporarily in the pocket of a red shirt and fretting over the prospect of a solitary life as a sock puppet or a golf cozy. But when, dumped into a dryer with the rest of the laundry, the two catch sight of each other at last, Phil holds back: “You’re…you’re PINK!” Shouldn’t a pair of socks look exactly the same? Happily, once the dryer starts its tumble, Phil’s foolish doubts are dispelled in the shared fun. “Who am I kidding Dale—of course you’re my pair!…And, anyway,” as the mismatched buddies walk off on a pair of feet, “who cares if we’re a little odd.” A big round hole in the front cover invites readers to join the tumbling twosome in their exhilarating romp. In the simply drawn, brightly hued illustrations, Marton dabs simple faces onto the tumbling, rumpled laundry, presenting the all-dialogue narrative and the clunks and gurgles of the washing cycles in block letters and adding hands and a flash of elbow, both pink, as the only signs of human agency.
A well-knit tale of textile togetherness. (Picture book. 5-8)