Once, decades ago, I drove to California (all the way, by myself, non-stop from Portland) to visit my brother Peter and his two sons.
A few days before, when packing to go, I had come across an old collection of misfit socks. That is, they were singles only, the other sock having been lost at some point, but I had kept these all together. Don't ask me why, I don't remember. But an idea was germinated.

I packed all these socks and then, when I got to Peter's apartment, I carried in my bags and waited for an opportune time.

Taking one (or both?) of his sons into my confidence, I inquired where Peter's laundry was and when he was likely to wash his clothes next, etc. I pushed the gaggle (what is the collective noun of a set of single socks?) of socks into the pile and waited a day or two...

I could hardly keep a straight face when Peter brought the laundry fresh from the dryer to the apartment to be folded and put away. We were talking while he was doing this. It took some time because he kept putting all the socks into a pile until the end and then finally started mating them.

Soon enough, it was obvious even to Peter that he had about a dozen single socks that he couldn't possibly have recognized, since he had never seen them before.

You should have seen the look on his face.

All talking stopped while he struggled with this in his mind, and while I tried to keep from laughing. Eventually, I could not hold it in any longer, and asked him what was wrong? But I think my laughter gave it away before I could explain. If I remember correctly, my nephews were also there. (Perhaps they might have some other recollections of the best practical joke I ever played on Peter?)

I have told this story endlessly for decades. I even thought that I had put this story into this blog in the past, but I searched and didn't find it. I think of this story often and then chuckle to myself. Sometimes I even think I hear Peter giggling near me when this favorite memory comes up.

I love you, Peter!