11:17 p.m. Wednesday. SH has just remembered he is attending a seminar the next morning at 8 a.m., an hour with which he is unacquainted. At 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, he was roped into committing to conducting a web training session from 7-10 p.m. Thursday for a group of Chinese engineers. He is pulling out his clothes for the next morning and he is not happy.
SH: Where are my tan socks?
Me: I don't know.
SH: They're not here!
Me: So what? You have other socks. You even have other tan socks.
SH: But these are the ones I like to wear with my khakis.
SH has an entire sock drawer full of socks, only five pairs of which he wears. Maybe he'll wear the rest in seven years when the holes in the current socks -- the socks I tried to discard for having holes in them that I could not longer repair -- triumph.
Me: Whatever. [I return to Jeff's book.]
SH: I have to find them!
He runs to the basement. I hear doors opening and slamming and a plaintive, "Where are they?" He comes back upstairs.
SH: They're not in the laundry.
Me: They'll turn up. Besides, were you going to wear dirty socks?
SH: I have to know where they are.
Me: They're around here somewhere. They'll turn up. Is this what you need to be doing now? Looking for socks instead of going to bed?
SH: I have to know.
He runs upstairs, returns triumphant.
SH: They were in my suitcase. I left them in my suitcase.
Me: I'm so glad that's resolved.