About an hour into the party, I happened to glance down and notice that my dear husband was wearing my socks. MY socks. Mine.
As with many things in my life, I am picky about my socks. I love knee high, dark coloured socks for work or 'out of the house' stuff, or ankle length white or light coloured socks for working out or for around the house. But there was my hubby, in my socks.
I ask you
Do these look like boy socks?
I think not.
All of his dark socks are men's dress socks. Only a couple have patterns and none look like this.
I was tempted to point it out right then and there at the party to get a laugh, but didn't want his staff to think he cross dresses on Friday nights. So I zipped my lip. I did however make it clear when we got home that he needs to check the laundry more closely when he puts it away, as I would NEVER have put my sockies in his drawer. Ever.
Today he comes home and tells me I might be mad at him. "Why?" I ask. "Because I wore another pair of your socks today," he sheepishly tells me while lifting his pant leg, to reveal a pair of my plain black knee high socks that, on him, only go calf high and are completely cutting off his circulation. Ha!
Now in all fairness they do look a lot more like his socks than the others did, but come on! I am very careful when I put them away, because I don't have many pairs of the black ones (they get holey and I trash them and I haven't been buying more since I'm not working these days and don't wear them often).
Seriously. Who puts on someone else's clothes and doesn't notice? (Well, my son wore my jeans once when he was 13...that was really, really funny!) But really! "Fine, you owe me four new pairs then," I snapped at him.