frog peeking through leaves
Unflinching, unrelenting the stare
A dazed look, you may declare
Look again, beneath the droopy lids
Nothing escapes, not even one tiny bit.
Under the shroud of leafy camouflage
A creature at large
Free to engage
The world is all a stage.
Tagged camouflage, frog, life, life's a stage, nature, poetry
Do you have a spouse with a compulsion that drives you up the wall? Or make you want to pack your bag and disappear without a trace? You rather stay in a toilet booth somewhere, anywhere and hide away while the compulsion waves are riding high?
My husband is hang up on socks. He looks for socks the first thing he steps into the house. Stray ones? Ones with holes. Or ones that sink. Ones missing a partner–one lone sock sitting forlorn? Well, invariably his eyes focus on any likeness of woolies that encase feet.
Next, the stock question. It never changes through the years and despite my plea, “What’s the deal with socks?’, he always asks, ,”Why are these socks lying here?”
Hello? If you have a child or two or more, the chances of socks decorating the confines of your house are almost 100 %. No exception–unless you have a special maid whose sole responsibility is picking socks up. From the sprawling floor of the family room or the tiny crevices of dark corners. Since most of us live without the luxury of such personalized service, you just have to let the socks be. Right?
Apparently not in my household. My husband is bent on seeking the socks out. Poor things, what have they done to deserve this militant hunting down? All you socks, you have my sympathy. Personally, I could care less. There are more pressing things in life to worry about. Like drinking my tea and putting my legs up for a sanity moment.
So the standard argument in this house goes something like that?
What are these socks doing lying here?
IDK (shrugs my shoulder)
Who left them here?
IDK ( roll my eyes)–ask Shaina. She was last since with one purpose sock.
I don’t understand. How can she run around with one sock and not know it?
IDK (hands up in frustration)–she’s only three. What do you expect?
Sometimes, this “sock” conversation can go on for a long time. So anal. So analytical. What’s there to rationalize about socks? They are just socks, for crying out loud. Leave them alone. They do disappearing act, that’s what they do. They are suppose to lounge around and remind people that life doesn’t always have to be perfect and rosy. Life can be messy and usualy is.
So do you hear? Leave the socks alone before I sock you, honey. And I’m already totally socked-out.
So all you, fellow bloggers–does your spouse have a certain compulsion that needs to be exposed? You can vent your frustration right here. I’m with you.
Hope for the Day 