Let me sock it to ya

by LOU MAZE
RMG humor writer

Back when our relationship was new, socks were a source of conflict between my husband and myself.

When you tell the single person about these disagreements, they scoff. This is a good time to lock them into a blood oath requiring them to admit to similar arguments with their future partners. Themes such as, she left jam in the butter or he left butter in the jam. He should put the seat down for his partner’s comfort and convenience or she should leave the seat up for the same reason.
But I digress. The sock battle of 1993, was one of those arguments, that half way into, you shake either your head or your fist and ponder which one of you has gone bananas.

I am not fussy about my socks. I consider socks matched when they are the same color and both are clean. Variations on this principle of pairing continue to occur.

My husband took his socks a lot more seriously. Both the color and the make had to match and that wasn’t too crazy but he also insisted that socks, like shoes, came in right and left versions. He would inspect them on this principle and match them accordingly.
The fight came when he suggested that I should do the same.
I said, “But they are tube socks.”

He said, “They still have right and left.”

Desperately seeking some last dim glimmer of sanity in the man I loved, I said, “so when you wear them on the same foot all the time, they kind of bend into right or left shapes.”

He said, “No. There are right socks and left socks. I am matching them, so I have a pair.”

I said, “But they are tube socks.”

He said, “You said that already.”

I considered a consultation with the lady at Sears, regarding the polarity of socks and the nature of tubes. I asked mutual friends and learned that my husband was not alone in his strange delusion. There were others. Nice people who didn’t wear tin foil hats or take orders from beings in far away galaxies.

It‘s been 23 years. I’m still doing laundry. He still bundles his socks together as a left/right pair, expecting them to reappear in his drawer, still bonded at the cuff.

And that’s what |I love about him the most, he’s a dreamer.

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