Willy has a well-documented problem with socks. He collects them, he hoards them, he gets seemingly emotionally attached to them, and he can’t let them go, even when they are mismatched and/or falling apart. I love to tease him about this, as there really are few things that he does “collect”, and, while this one is quirky, it actually doesn’t impact me that much. When I get annoyed at seeing his toes poking out of the holes in too many pairs, I just throw them out behind his back.
We purchased a new bedroom set this summer, and with it came a smaller dresser with five drawers. I claimed three of drawers, meaning that Willy would have to downsize. I was certain that the socks would be pared down, but he chose to jam everything that wasn’t socks in the closet, allowing for two drawers full of socks; one dark drawer and one light drawer. This separation is further evidence of his crazed obsession with socks, and I now refuse to put his socks away, for fear of the ramifications when I accidentally put a grey pair in the darks when they should be lights (or vice versa).
Last night he went to bed early, to read and rest his sore back. The room was pitch black when I climbed into bed, but Willy heard me, and complained that the he was cold and his shivering was hurting his back. I suggested that he put on a pair of socks, the very advice he had given me earlier in the day when I threatened to turn the heat on. In the dark, I opened a random drawer and handed him a pair, warning that I had no idea what colour they were.
We both laughed and then I could hear him shuffling as he put the socks on. “They’re white,” he said, “white with grey on the heels.” I scoffed and said that was impossible, there was no way that he could know that by feel. I turned on a light and asked him to produce the socks. Sure enough, they were just as he described. We both laughed some more, unable to believe that he was that familiar with his sock collection.