Not choice, but habit rules the unreflective herd.
~ William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)
Hundreds of socks.
Some the smallish ankle-hugging kind. Some long enough to reach the knees. Some with holes. Different brands and sizes. Nearly all white.
My wife is a trooper. She sorts them – the ones that have pairs – and bundles the likely mates together. She hates it, so I volunteer to help on occasion. I hate it worse, though she claims that’s quite impossible. Every load of laundry has socks in it. And since there is not much room left in the drawers, they all go in the big laundry basket sitting by the shoe basket near the front door.
And every morning it’s the same worn and weary refrain . . .
“Mom! I can’t find any socks!”
Thus, as dubbed by She Who Must Be Obeyed, it has become the “MOOOOOM! I can’t find my (muttered under breath through clenched teeth) damn socks!” basket. Or, when she’s really grumpy, the “MOOOOOM! These-socks-don’t-fit-anymore-so-I’m-throwing-them-on-the-floor-beside-the-basket!” basket. These castaways end up . . . ? You guessed it. Back in the laundry, where they’ll be washed yet again and put back in the basket. As the world turns . . .
You’d think, after all these years, we’d put our heads together and come up with a solution. Anything would be better than this most annoying and predictable of morning rituals, scrambling for socks while trying to finish breakfast, catch the end of Curious George, and make it to the bus stop. You’d think . . .
But the other night, in a rare moment of melancholy, in, of all places, the middle of the Housewares department at Wal-Mart, with so many viable options for ending the monotony stacked upon the shelves, my wife observed . . .
“Ya know? In a few years, we’ll miss that . . .”
One day, there will be no morning routine. At least not one involving frantic kids and piles and piles of socks.
So, in the basket the socks will stay.
But I’m wondering . . . perhaps, just to make it more fun . . . I might have to buy a green pair . . .
Because it’s T-shirt Friday at the Gimcrack Hospital, and because my wee one is so darn cute, I offer you this . . .
The sock basket. And a close-up . . .
“I’M TRYING TO BEHAVE”
Yeah. Right . . .