I have no secrets from you, my internet friends and family and I air all my dirty laundry here. As Ree says, I’m just keeping it real. So I give you this, knowing you will judge me, harshly, and I can’t say I don’t deserve it. I have never felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I keep a neat house, I put things away, I keep the garbage can from smelling and the abundance of green flora in the fridge to a minimum. My clothes are neat and my socks are white. So this, this, will haunt me forever. I can only be grateful that no one witnessed it. Well, except for now.
That. Is Tom’s sock. With not one, but two big holes in it. And a third threatening to pop on the little toe. How, oh how, did it get to this point? I bought him new socks recently and when I realized he had put the unopened package in the drawer, I started systematically throwing out the bad socks and replacing them with new socks. Somehow, this one escaped my attention.
It was especially painful for me because we were setting up the speakers this afternoon, which meant a lot of scooting around on the carpet without shoes. Every time I looked over, there was the evidence of my domestic failure, wiggling in the breeze, unfettered by cotton restraint. I asked him to change his socks, but Tom knows how much this bugs me and delighted in tormenting me with the scraps of fabric formerly known as Sock.
When he’s showering, I’ll be sneaking in and stealing the dirty little bastard. If I wasn’t so unsure it would break it, I would throw the evil thing down the garbage disposal to rid it forever from my life. And I’ll be taking another look through his sock drawer to look for it’s nasty little mate.
I’m on a mission now, and I’m issuing this warning to all his clothes – You better shape up and hold up. I’m looking at you, ratty old tennis shoes and T-shirt with the fraying collar. I’m home all day long and Tom can’t protect you all the time.