Since I'm still thinking about these particular socks - after two days - I decided it was time to deal with the issue. My commitment to the small details of life occasionally rises to an inordinate level of importance normally reserved for weightier matters.
While I would like to attribute this to my continual strivings to be the Proverbs 31 woman, my irritating obligation to truth drives me to confess that this nit-picky subject of socks is driven by a perfectionist strain in my nature that drives us all crazy.
It all began Thursday morning when my husband sat down on the sofa, as is his habit, for a few minutes before leaving for work.
I saw that he was wearing a black shirt, black slacks, black shoes, and ... white sport socks. I was unable to take my eyes off this ensemble and I suppose I looked at him just a tad longer than usual - from head to toe.
"WHAT?" he inquired.
"Those white socks," the wife said, trying to be 'helpful.'
"What's wrong with them?" he asked, with just the tiniest hint of irritation (and resignation).
"You don't wear white sport socks with that outfit," I offered.
"Why not?" he said ... no doubt recalling some identical past conversation.
I gave him 'the look,' and said nothing more.
After a few minutes of watching the news he asked, "Why are you so quiet?" (I was reading.)
I looked up and wryly said, "Well, that outfit got my day off to a bad start," and continued reading.
As is his habit, he got up and went around gathering his glasses, cell phone, keys, etc. As he came back into the room and rounded the corner of the sofa to give me a goodbye kiss, I noticed that he had changed socks. We just smiled knowingly at each other.
"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven ..." He can wear the white socks on Saturday.
This is pretty much as exciting as it gets around the Reyner house these days.
Royal Heir
Posts
