Pinning Socks

 

Despite living together for a dozen years, my husband and I have had almost no major disagreements. If we do, we usually can talk them through to a solution. Compared to many couples our disagreements are minor.

• I'm a stronger disciplinarian with Sherlock, our dog. The dog benefits by playing my husband.
• A trash can didn't belong under the sink.
• The number of times the cuckoo clock strikes the hour.
• I'm a neat freak, he's not. 
• Pinning socks.

Yes, you read that right. Pinning socks.

Starting in the 70s, my housemate at the time pinned his socks together eliminating any jokes about the washing machine eating one. 

I started doing the same leaving the pin in one sock all the time. My husband refuses to do it citing the chance of the pin sticking him. I admit he has a point. It does happen. It happen to me three times in some 50 years. 

I compare that prick with the ease of pulling my socks out of the washer, attached rather than searching for mates. Mathematically, I'm under-wonderful. Still I figure at two or three washes a week with up to five pairs of socks, the time spent matching them, which could vary from seconds  to several minutes times 52 times 50 that totals a lot of wasted time. Never mind the frustration and the chance of never finding the runaway sock.

My husband and I do share chores. When it is my turn on laundry, I refuse to match his socks.

Sounds childish? Nope. In almost every other thing we do I will go along with his ideas. But a girl, okay, an old woman, has to take a stand some where. I didn't say, "I told you so, they should have been pinned" when he lost one special sock. The pair held a special memory of a special time with his daughter in London. I wanted to, though.

Not a day goes by that I don't appreciate how few problems, maybe not problems but mini glitches, my marriage has. Thus, I'll pin my socks and he wont, and we'll talk down the street hand in hand to our favorite café for a cuppa.