The Singles Drawer

I’m a minimalist which means I don’t like a lot of clutter in my world. My husband has a sock drawer. Of course that’s not unusual. But this particular sock drawer is specifically and only for those socks who have lost their mates. I consider it sock limbo and a total waste of perfectly good drawer space. A more suitable vessel for these things is a garbage can. But Dick takes this match-making service seriously and thus we have the singles drawer. I will even give him credit that once in awhile he has success in finding the mates. But you have to understand that not all of these socks are worthy of salvation....like Zach's mud stained soccer sock from the third grade. This is where his thriftiness clashes with my compulsion to purge. I’m sure there is a name for his disorder.

Of course his disorder pushes my buttons in other ways as well, including the fact that he doesn't acknowledge that he has a disorder. If I’d ever let him get a word in edgewise, he might try to convince you that I am a control freak which is of course just another symptom of his illness. For instance he insists on washing dishes by hand when the dishwasher is completely empty! He puts my baking pans in the cupboard with my casserole dishes. He folds towels unevenly and then stacks them haphazardly in the linen closet even after years of instruction and counseling from me on the proper way to do it. He washes black bath towels with light towels and if I don’t monitor him closely, he will sneak a pair of jeans in with that same load. He used to store the grilling utensils inside the gas grill which I found ridiculous. (On this one I was validated when he lit the grill forgetting about the utensils and they melted.) When he feeds the dogs, he does not use the specific measuring cups that are stored in each dog’s food bin....he “eyeballs” it. And after 23 years of marriage, he can’t seem to return bread to the bread drawer and still doesn’t know that crumbs on the counter make me mumble obscenities under my breath. The term passive aggressive comes to mind.

Until he admits he has a problem, I am destined to refold the towels, reorganize the linen closet and kitchen cabinets as well as feed the dogs a tad less in the morning to compensate for the extra calories they receive on his watch. I will probably continue to load the clean dishes he left in the dish drainer back in the dishwasher. Why can’t he leave these domestic matters to me? I respect his space, his things and his budget. It was logical for me to use his cordless beard trimmer on Cooper. I saved us $60 in dog grooming fees. And when his nasty old “Beer of the Month” club t-shirt became my paint rag, I did him a favor by removing it from his wardrobe. If he would just listen to me, I would not have to continually point out his errors.

Sometimes I mess with his singles drawer. I pull out a few socks and toss them in the garbage. However if I am not crafty, he rescues them and returns them to the drawer. For example: I have been throwing away the same cotton Birkenstock socks for years; as a pair! They were my socks but they lived a good life and it was time to part with them....in 2007. They are holey, threadbare on the heels and just when I think I have shaken them, they reappear in my life! Yesterday I had hoped to discard just a few more of the singles without detection and this is where the story gets a little sick and twisted. I opened the drawer and what did I find? The Birkenstocks. As a pair. In the singles drawer! He thought he could safely rescue the Birks this time because he thinks I never look in the singles drawer. You see each time I encounter the Birkenstock socks, I have to inspect them to (1) confirm that these are the same socks and not a new pair, (2) assure myself that disposing of these socks is indeed warranted, and (3) dispose of them again. It's a sick game! However this time I outsmarted him. I hid them under moist coffee grounds and slimy eggshells. If they reappear, I am going to have to request an intervention.