Just Keep On Laughing Up There
At the risk of sounding sacriligious, I can't help but think that God has played a little joke on me. And, just a little one, but one that I still think about with a little smile.
Growing up, one of my least favorite activities was pairing my dad's newly laundered black dress socks. As anyone knows, its a real pain because they are usually just slightly different, but the fact that they are black makes one have to inspect closely the knitwork, material, and worn-ness in order to establish proper pairs, and then of course there are still (as the case with any socks) mismatches. And, maybe people who are less picky with unimportant details don't really have a problem with it, but when it gets to sock pairing, I always want just the right ones.
Anyhow, as I was doing this mundane task in varying stages of my girlhood, I always thought to myself, "Good thing my husband isn't going to wear black socks so I don't have to do this for the rest of my life." Why I thought that, I'm not totally sure. But, as anybody who knows Sam knows, the man wears no other color, dress or otherwise, save a few pairs of white for when he is playing soccer or cricket.
So, there you have it. My life. Sorting black socks.
Growing up, one of my least favorite activities was pairing my dad's newly laundered black dress socks. As anyone knows, its a real pain because they are usually just slightly different, but the fact that they are black makes one have to inspect closely the knitwork, material, and worn-ness in order to establish proper pairs, and then of course there are still (as the case with any socks) mismatches. And, maybe people who are less picky with unimportant details don't really have a problem with it, but when it gets to sock pairing, I always want just the right ones.
Anyhow, as I was doing this mundane task in varying stages of my girlhood, I always thought to myself, "Good thing my husband isn't going to wear black socks so I don't have to do this for the rest of my life." Why I thought that, I'm not totally sure. But, as anybody who knows Sam knows, the man wears no other color, dress or otherwise, save a few pairs of white for when he is playing soccer or cricket.
So, there you have it. My life. Sorting black socks.
posted by Laura Negus at 6:49 AM
3 Comments:
Here's what I'm going to do when I get married. I'm going to buy a host of clothes pins or safety pins and train my husband to pin them together after he takes them off. That way they come out of the wash and the dryer already matched and they never had to spend one lonely moment without their mate.
Truly brilliant, n'est-ce pas?
Applause.
You know, where I come from, the gayest thing a man can do, except have a boyfriend, is wear white socks for a non-athletic activity. White socks with non-white footwear and non-athletic clothing like jeans... you're facing jail time. When I came to America and saw otherwise sane males wearing white socks and jeans I thought I had entered a bizarro 8th grade.
It's not right.
we used to wear black sox until the Black Sox Scandal of 1919.
the american pastime was almost ruined so everyone went white.
of course then there was the civil rights movement of the 60's when your race was readily identified by the color of your socks.
the clear solution to sorting black socks would be to toss out all the socks Sam owns and buy one type of black socks and only one type of black socks. The sorting would be only a matter of dividing by 2.
That would get 'r' dun.
I think you know who this is.
Keep on rollin' Elise.
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