Socks.

I have been up all night with more pain than I can really do justice talking about so instead I am going to talk about something else. Socks.

WBH and I have been together a long time, almost 13 years. Our second wedding anniversary is coming up in October, but even before that we knew each other very well and had a fairly good idea what would make us mad crazy about each other and crazy mad at each other. And for me, the later was socks.

When he gets home, the first thing WBH does is change into comfier clothing. Then he either hits the bed or the loveseat for a few minutes of web browsing and relaxing from his day. During this time he usually ends up pulling off his socks and leaving them wherever they land.

Let me be clear here: He changes clothes, putting the dirty things in the hamper and hanging up his pants if they are good to go for another day, but his socks just lay in piles by his side of the bed and by the loveseat in the living room.

I cannot express how crazy this made me. At first I took the direct approach, which is usually the case in our house. I asked him to pick them up and he did. But that didn't stop him from creating more piles. I finally got tired of asking and so I decided to try to passive aggressive route. I left the piles there, waiting to see how long it would take for him to decide to pick them up on his own.

I'm sure you can imagine how well that worked. He would have run out of socks before picking them up.

So laundry days found me wandering around the house, picking up sock piles. And by this time we had adopted a lovable puppy who loves socks. ADORES socks. The socks migrated - with the help of X-Man - to every room in the house.

It was a fight I was going to lose anyway, but with both men in the house against me, what hope could I have?

So I picked up the socks when I was sorting laundry, when friends were going to visit, or when I just happened upon them and felt like it. Today, as I picked up a whole pile of white socks with one loan black (and wondered where Xander had left its mate), it occurred to me that I no longer resented the action. In fact, it felt almost romantic.

Socks? Romantic???

I know, I know, but hear me out!

In the last few years I have had one health set back after another and through out it all, Adam has been here for me. Holding me while I cried, fighting my fights when I couldn't, and even buying me diapers when I couldn't trust my body long enough to make it through the night. He has done everything I could ask and even more to take care of me - cherish me, as the vows said.

As I picked up that pile of socks today, it was with love for this man who has done so much for me and asked so little. He doesn't even ask me to pick up his socks, but I do because I love him and I can.

So socks are romantic today. This isn't to say that I won't be annoyed by the next pile I come across, but for now, that is enough.

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