Sunday, April 10, 2011
Marriage 301, Lecture 533: So satisfying when you can say, "I told you so"
This is how we (=SH) look for socks chez nous.
First, though, you must know that SH has an entire drawer full of socks. Nothing but socks. Blue socks and black socks and one or two tan socks. I confess that I, too, am a sock hoarder, but only half of my drawer has regular socks. The other half is sports socks and pink, brown, and blue with leopard print edging fluffy socks. You can't do without fluffy socks in Wisconsin in the winter, just as you can't do without that extra ten pounds unless of course you want your heating bills to be even higher than they already are. Lots of clothes and a good layer of fat is the key.
SH loves the socks. Loves them. He has an entire drawer full but that does not mean he doesn't have his favorites. He wears the same four pairs over and over. And over. Until they need darning, which I do, darning them as I darn, darn socks. There are socks in that drawer that he has never worn.
I, too, have never-worn socks, but they will be worn once the regular socks have lost their usefulness and have become rags.
So although SH and I are both sock hoarders, there are some key differences between us:
1. I don't have as many socks as he does.
2. When mine are worn out, they become dustrags. They are not darned.
3. If I can't find a particular pair of socks in my sock drawer, I just take another.
SH, on the other hand, goes all sock crazy and demands to know where, WHERE are his socks? The ones he wants to WEAR? WHERE ARE THEY?
I shrug. In your sock drawer, I tell him. That's where I put them after I did the laundry.
I return to my cooking magazine. My work here is done. I have advised him as to the location of his socks.
He doesn't believe me. He tears through the drawer. Then he looks in my drawer.
He is starting to annoy me because he is forcing me to become involved in his Sock Search.
Just take another pair, I tell him. Sheesh. They are SOCKS. Fungible. Blue. Big deal.
Oh no another pair will not do. He wants THESE BLUE SOCKS.
He doesn't believe me that there are no socks in the laundry chute. I did all the darks yesterday, I tell him. There isn't anything there.
He has to check for himself. Goes downstairs. Looks in the chute. In the baskets. In the dryer. On the drying rack.
Nothing. No socks.
I just want the noise and the commotion to stop because hello, I am trying to concentrate on my magazine.
He stomps back upstairs. Where ARE they? he demands.
Don't know. Don't care. They'll turn up.
He exhales loudly. Opens his sock drawer again. Rifles through the blue fungible socks.
Sheepish grin. Oh, he says. Here they are. In the drawer. I just didn't see them.
I roll my eyes. I win.