The Sock Thief

A ridiculous portion of our lives are dedicated to socks. Jason and I spend way too much looking for (Jason), picking up (Megan), and arguing over socks. You see, we have a few strange sock habits. Okay, in all actuality, I have some weird sock habits. I wear them when I sleep (and I might add that I highly recommend it- I am out within five minutes of laying down, and I sleep deeply without waking up), I occasionally tuck my pajama pants into my socks during the winter before I go to bed (don't you hate it when your pant legs ride up and your legs get cold?), and I have quite the talent for losing my socks. And this, my friends, is why I am the sock thief.

Women's socks, for some reason, are not very warm, nor are they very sturdy. I go through them quickly, and I lose them easily. I've gotten a lot better about keeping track of them, probably because, for the first time in my life, I have a washer and a dryer to myself. For a long time though, I had a hard time keeping track of my socks. Community laundry rooms were not kind to me, and I lost most of my socks before Jason and I got married. And then, a marvelous thing happened: Jason and I got married, and all of a sudden, I realized that in addition to my own few pairs of socks, I now had access to Jason's numerous pairs of socks. Jason, fearing for his socks' safety, bought me a package of socks for our first Christmas. His only oversight, however, was that I had found out the truth about men's socks: they are way way better than women's socks. So, for the past two years, I have been "borrowing" his socks on a regular basis, and you know what? He doesn't like it. He worries that I'm going to lose them, and he hates losing socks (I have not, by the way, lost any of his socks in all my days of doing his laundry). So, once again, he has told me to expect socks for Christmas. That's fine by me, but Jason, my dear, sweet husband, please buy me men's socks. I might stop stealing yours, and we'll both be much happier sock wearers.