Finding socks in the dark

Life is full of big and little mysteries. The big mysteries are the ones that my children ask from time to time: where do we come from, what happens when we die, what is out there at the end of the universe (or, in the immortal words of Buzz Lightyear, beyond infinity)? Great minds spend their whole lives pondering such mysteries. And then there a the mysteries that are too small too warrant any kind of serious investigation. One of mine is as follows. 

Most evenings, as soon as I come home from work, I change into a track suit, which I find more comfortable than the clothes I wear to work. I also change my "day" socks for a pair of white sport socks for the same reason. Then, when I go to bed, I change into pyjamas and leave the track suit on a chair next to my bed. In the morning, I keep my pyjama on while making breakfast, but use the same white socks again. And here's the mystery: the vast majority of the time, I will find one sock either on the floor or dangling from the end of one leg of the track suit pants, and the other tangled with the underpants. This is so systematic that in wintertime, when it is still dark, I hardly ever have to turn on the light to find them. 

The logical explanation for this is that I always take off the pants in such a way as to ensure that this happens (and I am definitely a creature of habit), but I just tried to reproduce the routine (I am in my track suit now), and the outcome was as one might expect: both socks end up at the far end of the pant legs (they only drop to the floor if you lift the pants up). According to quantum physics, the fact that one observes an experiment influences the outcome, but I hardly think that this is the problem here. But unfortunately, as with so many little mysteries, it really isn't worth finding out. 

So I will just leave it at that, and be happy that I can find my socks in the dark.