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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Romance/Love · #799875
A glimpse of 36 years of marriage and my lost socks.
Please Lord, Help Me Find My Socks

         God put my wife into my life to teach me patience. I am sure His desire that I find love and fulfillment in this life played a small role also. But, right now, I feel patience was God’s prime motivation. I come to this conclusion after reflecting on an experience fresh on my mind.

         I believe I am a considerate person. I demonstrated this honorable trait just this very morning. It was dark when I pulled myself out of bed. As I walked to the adjoining master bathroom, I did not turn on the light. I skillfully negotiated my way in the dark, to my own peril. That was considerate. I let her sleep.

         Having successfully accomplished the tasks of showering, shaving, and grooming, I returned to the bedroom area to finish the task of dressing myself, which I have done on my own since my mother taught me as a young boy. I will not confuse you with the science of sequential order, which deals with, "Do you put your socks on before your pants or your pants on before your socks?" No, that is far too complicated for this little discourse. Suffice it to say that on this morning I was indeed going to wear socks. So, with that end in mind I opened the sock drawer to retrieve a pair of tan socks (my mother taught me that you wear tan socks with tan pants and blue socks with blue pants). My intent was to wear my tan pants.

         To my horror I did not find the tan socks. No, clutched in my hand, for it was still dark, was a bra. Remember I did not turn on the light. That was considerate. I let her sleep. I was pretty sure that the delicate article held in my manly hand was not mine. From my experience of dressing myself for half a century I was pretty sure that it was not socks. I also had a sneaking suspicion I would not find socks in this drawer, which for the last five years had successfully produced socks.

         My only option, or only reasonable option, was to try another drawer, which I did. I quietly, for I am considerate and wanted to let her sleep, tried the next drawer down. Sweaters, I found sweaters. "Maybe the next drawer?" I thought. No, there were only scarves, gloves, and something unidentifiable in the next drawer.

         By this time panic was setting in. My first option was to go to work with my tan pants without my tan socks. I discarded this option quickly because I knew someone would surely notice that the boss wasn’t wearing socks. Let’s face it, I’m cool but not that cool. The second option was to wake my wife and get the proper instructions for finding my tan socks. I didn’t like that option for two reasons. First was that I am considerate and didn’t want to wake my wife. I let her sleep. The second reason was that to receive advice on where to find your socks proves that you need help. And that act empowers her when she successfully leads me to my socks.

         What possesses someone to change the sock drawer without prior notification of that act? I know you are thinking, "Dan, get a grip on yourself. It’s just a sock drawer." But it is more than just a sock drawer. It’s the sacred principle of the thing, which at this moment escapes me, but I’m sure it’s sacred nonetheless. This was an isolated incident that had been repeated in different forms before. For example, why does someone move the silverware from one drawer to another drawer across the kitchen? Do you know how frustrating it is to open and close every drawer as you stand with a fork in your hand looking for its proper home? I know there is some conspiracy in this act, because of the subtle snicker and faint grin that I perceive upon her face.

         There I stood, in the dark because I did not want to turn on the light, for I was considerate. I let her sleep. I came to the ultimate conclusion that my only option was to speak out in the darkness, "Linda, where are my socks?"

         "In your sock drawer," She replied. I could not see her in the dark; but I sensed that subtle grin and snicker. After thirty-six years of marriage, you sense those sorts of things. Her answer was deliberate. She had responded correctly. Her response forced me to again confess that I needed help as I replied, "I know that; but where is my sock drawer?"

         "Oh, I moved it over to the drawer in the armoire, where the bathroom light shines on it so that you can see it in the dark." Again, my every sense tells me there is a subtle snicker and a grin hidden on her face in the darkness. I know that I have lost. Even more frustrating, she knows it too. Her motivation was to help me, for she is considerate. And because she is, I love her; and will continue to grope in the darkness and let her sleep.
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