About just how many pairs of socks two people can own

Because I was catching on up laundry last night, during an evening actually spent in the home, otherwise known as the check-in station.
The male family member's socks seem to fall into two categories: white and black. Each of those two categories has two subcategories: dress black (rarely worn) and fuzzy black everyday work socks. The white also has two subcategories: everyday tennis shoe crew socks, and short footies (often worn while playing golf). That's it. Four kinds.
The female family member's socks -- that is to say, mine -- seem to have a infinite varieties. I think I may have become an unintentional collector of them, too.
Oh, I have the white crew, and the white footies. I also have the white, black and beige slide (or half) socks and the tube versions. These partial socks cause a lot of conversation with people who have never heard or seen them; I love them. Perfect summer socks.
I also have the smaller nylon or cotton footies, in beige, white, or black, for certain shoes; I have patterned footies, for making fashion statements; I have thicker ones, for walking; I have old ones, new ones; high, medium, and low ones; single ones.
I have dark trouser socks (in black and navy), and beige (light and dark) trouser socks, in nylon, microfiber, and cotton. I have them in knee-sock length, and in crew length. I have them in thicker weaver and in thinner. I have plain ones, and patterned ones.
I have holiday socks for Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Halloween. I might even have a pair for the Fourth of July.
I've not mentioned the panty hose (regular and control top) and the tights (microfiber) in various colors.
Have you ever counted your socks? I have not, because I cannot count to a googol.
I have a whole drawer of mystery socks, whose mates have vanished. I must be unconsciously waiting for the pairs to become whole once again, for I fail every time I organize my dresser to just THROW THIS DRAWER OF ODD SOCKS OUT.
I might know why. I think part of our history is hidden in our sock drawer. The pair we bought when our feet got wet at the amusement park one summer...the argyles we wore to work during our years at an old job...the pair our child gave us for Christmas that might vie for the title of "ugliest sock ever." We've logged miles in these socks: heard good news and bad, gone to work, come home, taken walks, talked on the phone, paced with babies, ran after little kids, trailed after teenagers, ran to catch up with friends, laughed and cried, ate and drank, loved and hated.
IF one's bodily toxins can be removed through the feet...maybe our whole life history has been leeched into our socks, and that is why we are so loath to part with them.
Well, how about you? What are you thinkin' about what's hidden in your sock drawer?