Relatively Minor
Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could indeed be ... relatively minor.
It had been a long week at the newspaper after covering five days of the Madison County Fair and one day of the Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI). I enjoyed photographing livestock and their handlers in the show arena, and party animals on two wheels who entered the downtown square.
It was exciting to capture the lively events, but the non-stop work left me feeling exhausted. I was looking forward to some relaxation over the weekend.
However, I was in for a surprise the following morning when I opened my top dresser drawer – a mishmash of socks greeted me. A well-organized sock drawer reflects a well-organized mind, however, mine was not organized that morning.
I can’t believe it took me this long to deal with it. For two years, I had been avoiding the inevitable chaos in my sock drawer, afraid that I would never find matching pairs among the colorful jumble. (After all, a sock without a mate is like a ship without a captain.)
Thankfully, it only took an hour to sort through the chaotic footwear collection.
After disposing of the mate-less, religiously separating the holey, and arranging the good, I couldn’t help but wonder how I ended up with so many pairs in the first place. It seems that socks – much like beer – are often sold in six-packs. Six pairs won’t last for seven days, so I often end up buying two packages, totaling 12. This leaves a pair for Sunday, and five additional pairs. And that’s not even accounting for the socks I bought to match specific outfits, the cushioned socks for exercise, and the fuzzy socks for lounging.
So when my socks overflowed, I guess I was responsible – even though they were all good for my sole.
Having seen the light, I have changed my ways! I placed them all in a shoebox in my drawer so now I have better control. Or at least a little more containment.
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Member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative