Why is it that little things can get me down while getting my dander up?
A major illness--I think I could deal with. Financial difficulties? Car problems? Frustrating, but do-able.
But when my husband presented me with several pairs of his socks that had holes in the toes, and asked me to repair them, I dug in my heels.
"John, nobody darns socks anymore. That's why God created Wal-Mart!"
My dear husband shook his head and replied that Wal-Mart was for when there were holes in the heels, not just small ones in the toes. That's what a needle and thread were created for, he maintained.
So for the past two weeks, a small pile of white athletic socks has languished atop our dresser. Maybe I thought if I ignored them long enough, they'd simply give up the ghost and disappear. Or perhaps I should have run them through the washer again in the hopes they'd join their distant cousins who have been eaten by the invisible Laundry Monster, never to be seen again.
Yesterday, as John sat on the edge of the bed and sewed a sock before finishing getting dressed, he told me how dishonored he felt that I hadn't done anything about them yet. That wasn't the message I had wanted to send, but it's the one he received. I simply wanted to procrastinate and simmer about how unfair it was, in this day and age, to expect me to darn his socks.
But tonight, while he was at his symphony rehearsal, I sat down with my sewing kit beside me, John's socks in my lap, and reading glasses perched on my nose, hoping to find that pesky little eye of the needle. And you know what? It really wasn't such a terrible job after all. I didn't even have to mutter under my breath!
In a small but tangible way, I've now shown my husband that, darn it all, he's worth it.