“Ugh! Where is my grey sock? Where is it?!!”
“Look, I do the laundry. The socks sometimes go missing. They always turn up eventually. Wear another pair of socks. There are about 80 clean pairs of socks in the drawer.”
“But, I want to wear the grey ones. They match better.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
“I don’t know why you massacre the socks every time you do the laundry.”
God help us. This is worse than global warming.
“Let’s be clear, “Where do the socks go?” has been a historic question from Aristotle to Seinfeld. They couldn’t answer it. I’m not going to be able to answer it either. Just take it on faith that the socks will turn up, just as the sun always rises. WEAR ANOTHER PAIR OF FECKIN’ SOCKS.”
“I want to wear THAT sock though.”
“A) You’re being a 4 year old right now. B) I told you the socks always turn up and there are 80 pairs of clean socks to wear in the interim. Wear the black socks. Black goes with everything. And C)…”
With C, I hesitated. Hesitation was my fatal flaw. I said “And C…” and stopped to think and Wifesy smiled. Around the eyes at first and then it spread to the rest of her annoyingly cute face.
“And C) I don’t give a feck about the missing socks.”
“You didn’t even have a C. But, you had said C, so then you had to make one up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t have a C.”
Here’s your feckin’ C, Goddermn it!
Wifesy’s laughing now and so am I. She drives me crazy with this feckin’ sock thing. Out of 80 complete, and paired, socks, Wifesy will find the one missing its partner and cry about it as if it’s her child that’s gone missing. It makes me so insane that I want to turn on all of the stove’s gas burners and throw all of our good socks down upon them.
“There, now we have NO feckin’ socks. How’s that for you?”
No matter how much you love (and I love this woman a great deal) something will drive you to drink. It is the unavoidable byproduct of any good relationship – occasional annoyance.
I think the way out is the laughter.
I will always propose a C, even when I don’t feckin’ have one because my verbal outlines always make us both laugh.
Wifesy is also a key ingredient as to why this all works. She doesn’t have a thick memory when it comes to our fights. She lets them pass, in one door and out the other, like storm flooding you just have to wait out.
In all of my past relationships, fights were epic and long lasting and very difficult to recover from. I do believe that I was involved with a long line of narcissists before Wifesy. Everything was about them. Unless there was a problem, then it was all my fault. I’m glad I -finally- loved myself enough to find someone who can look at herself, just as I can.
A relationship is nothing, but a mirror at the best of times AND at the worst of times. A mirror that can help you grow and see yourself better, if you let it. But, if you never look into it, then you won’t notice how caked and crazy your hair has become. You’ll only yell at your partner for “making you feel so ugly.”
Getting myself healthy enough to be with someone like Wifesy is one of the single, greatest things I have ever done.
I am truly lucky. (If by “lucky” you mean “one who has worked for it and earned the damn thing.”)
I know when you’re single it’s easy to think, “I’m going to die alone, surrounded by cats.” I know because I thought that once. But, the truth is, there’s someone for everyone. However, if you want the truly spiritual and uplifting relationship, you’ve got to do the work on yourself first. Once you do, your other half will find you.
That’s my current theory, anyway. And hey, it happened to me.
Much love,
Sweet Mother
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End note: Today NaNoWriMo begins. Good luck to all my SweetMoNaNos out there. Get your 1600 words in today and don’t think about it too much. And by all means, let me know how it’s going in the comments section.
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Sweet Mother 