Cutting Socks

It is 12:19 am and Lucy and I have spent another riveting Friday night watching "Mobile Home Disasters" on CMT, followed by Lucy fretting about the apartment while I study. And it was Lucy's fretting that actually inspired me to write something tonight.

I have a test on the "Killer App" in my information systems class on Tuesday. Its a pretty interesting book, for any geek interested in IS and business. Of course the test has been on the syllabus all semester, but I didn't try to buy it until two weeks ago. Imagine my surprise when the university bookstore didn't have it in stock and Barnes and Noble told me it was out of print. I ended up buying it from Amazon and paid three times as much as normal to get it in time for my test. Well, it hasn't shown up and now I have been reading it on the internet, which is awful.

Word to the wise never ever decide to read textbooks online.

So, while I am reading and intently attempting to improve myself through higher education Lucy began to pontificate on the extreme psychological power of socks.

Men, listen up. Women apparently, through millennium of evolution, or intelligent design - take your pick, have developed a deep and rewarding relationship with their socks that we, as men, can only hope to match.

Women can establish their entire sense, well maybe a significant portion,
of self worth on the current state of their stockings. This seemingly innocuous garment determines whether a woman greets her day with passion, gusto, and energy or with frumpy disdain.

Imagine, if you will, a potent phallic symbol such as a really awesome guitar or brand new baseball bat. Just holding it makes you feel powerful, you know you could hit something really hard or look like you have some desirable musical talent. We, as men, use these things to tell other people that we are better then they are.

Women use socks to assure themselves that they are everything they hope to be. Nobody in their right mind pays any attention to the socks of another person for more than a micro second, and in these cases it is usually when they are mismatched. But to a woman's psyche knowing they have a killer pair of knee-highs on elevates their self worth to the upper echelons of social standing. Because socks are the one pointless aspect of fashion, having the right socks means that your world is complete. You have accomplished everything else and now you only have to worry about what makes you especially special.

This fascinating relationship between women and footwear became clear to me as Lucy described in detail the immense joy she found in destroying old socks. Every morning for weeks she had dreaded opening her drawer to find a rotting supply of saggy, holey, worn-out socks. Her whole day would be ruined because of the incessant reminder of her failure as a woman due to this embarrassing aspect of her wardrobe.

As she sat next to me cutting up old socks into cleaning rags her eyes would twinkle, the corners of her mouth would be raised in maniacal smile, and the potent fumes of estrogen seemed to intoxicate her. She told me with triumph that tomorrow she would be able to face her day happily.

And I am proud of her. Who wouldn't salute their spouse for accomplishing something important to them.

But here is the kicker.

I freaking bought her brand new socks 7 months ago!!! THEY ARE STILL IN THE PACKAGING.

Women are the most confusing creatures on the planet.

Weddings

We went to a football themed wedding tonight. It was at the U football stadium and pictures of football players were every where. We waited in line for half an hour surrounded by the greatest football moments in the university's history. The most impressive was the photo of the fans with their chests painted in support of their team: UT!S. They misspelled UTES!, forgeting the most important letter...the vowel. And they will be remembered for all times as the football fans that can't spell their own school mascot.
After I felt that I had successfully mocked our school's pathetic English department in front of my English major wife I went on to explain my "wedding philosophy": I don't want to ever run into anybody and say "hey didn't we meet at that wedding?' at which point Lucy turned around and asked the complete stranger behind us if he was a physician. They began to talk and I left the line and went to eat the refreshments.
They had nice little bite size key lime pies that were too hard to get out their pie pans. And a fountain that peed punch. After I thought about the peeing fountain I decided to go with the water.
I brought Lucy a pie back once I felt that there was no way the physician conversation could still be going on. I arrived and the guy who might have been the physician said "wow little pies!!" and I complained that the line still hadn't moved.

NEW BLOG!!!!

Lucy says eating at night isn't good because eating in the morning is better. Well Bill says he is hungry NOW!!! Bill also says that wives should make quesadillas for their husbands when it is past 10 pm.


We went to Home Depot today, that place is big, you can get lost. They have enough materials to build a whole neighborhood. Lucy was afraid she was too good looking to be in the store and some one might take her, so she made Bill hold her hand the entire time. Which wasn't so bad. (emphasis on the "so").

Any way, when we got home from the amazing home depot, which is one of our favorite date activities by the way, Lucy was afraid of the aspestos in the floor. IN THE FLOOR!! She refuses to sweep because it will "Put asbestos in the air and make us die young." How young I ask. "Like fifty" she says. "I dont want to die when I am fifty!"

Well let me tell you something, if you are fifty you are O-L-D old. Your life is pretty much over and you have to eat dinner at four in the afternoon.