Last year, right around the time handsome got his full-time firefighting position, we (and I use the term "we" loosely here... gulp.) decided it was time for a shopping spree. Because, you see, we were now flush with money. Right? (and the paid firefighters families are laughing...) Well, comparatively, we were, in fact, flush with $$, so it was shopping time. We hadn't really gotten new clothes in about 2 years, other than as Christmas gifts.
Handsome couldn't really think of anything he needed, but lucky for him, I could think of quite a few things he needed, and so I called my two best shopper friends, and away we went. We shopped from open to near-close, and the other two girls were able to explain their hefty bills to their hubbies by ending the story with, "But Mariah spent more!" This was unusual, as Handsome & I had lived such a tightwad existence for the past 2 years, and I think it actually bought them some leeway.
The one thing that H. did want was to realize a dream. He'd been talking about this for months. It was right up there with the, "When I get a job, we're going to eat red meat again!" conversations. And his dream went like this.
When I get a job, I'm going to get rid of all of my different socks, every single one of them, and I'm going to buy only two kinds; one short, and one long. That way they all match, there's no unmatched, and its done. Also, these two kinds are going to be easy to find, generic ones, that will always be around. This way, when its time to replace some lost socks, they will still all be ...
*wait for it*
And so, on that hot sweltering August day, I truly did make his dream come true. I bought all the same kind of short sock and all the same kind of long sock. And I know where to get more. When we got home from our shopping trip, I boxed up all of his current socks and put them in a box in the garage earmarked for GoodWill. Done.
Or so I thought.
Lately, as I've been folding the laundry, I've come across some peculiar sightings. Old socks, worn-out ones that he used to have, will suddenly appear in the pile. The little kid's black socks that his mom accidentally bought him, will just be in with the mix. I'm not sure where these are coming from, as Handsome has no idea that the box I earmarked for GoodWill 11 months ago is still sitting in our garage. We don't have rodents, that I know of, and Duke is scared of the garage and all of its big scariness.
The only plausible solution I can come up with is that the dryer really was eating our socks as we laundered them, and is now spitting them back out, something akin to a piece of chewing gum that has lost its flavor. Really, its the only likely answer. It could be Handsome waging some sort of psychological manipulation, but he's not the type. Outright lie, yes. Sneakily re-integrate old socks into the wash, no.