Here's a sad story.
I once had a pair of socks that were a perfect match, and a perfect fit.
They were soft, and warm, and cute and fuzzy. They loved each other as much as a sock could love another sock. They went everywhere together. One would never see one without the other. When I wasn't wearing them, they were always tucked neatly inside my sock drawer safe and wrapped inside each other.
Then one very hot day I went hiking.
I climbed and climbed to the top of hill, and when I reached the top, I took off my shoes and socks to cool down and relax. I was way up high on a huge rock when a wind came and blew one of my socks halfway down the side of the steep hill.
I had to think fast before the wind carried it further down the hill and out of site forever, so I found some long sticks and tied them together with my shoe laces. I laid down on my stomach and stretched my arms down the side of the hill with the stick in my hands and attempted to lift the sock back up to safety. I almost slid down the hill along with the sock. It was really dumb and scarey, but I reached the sock and lifted it, and just as I did,
another strong wind came and blew the sock too far away to ever be reached again.
I hiked back down the trail wearing my sad, mateless sock, and got a blister on the foot with no sock.

Did anybody cry?