Just Call Me Solomon

[A repeat from December 21, 2017] In my post of April 2, 2017, I discussed the gift of colorful and quirky “Happy Socks” that my granddaughters gave me last Christmas.  I have more than a dozen pair and I now wear them every day.  But as in all cases, the past is prologue. . . .   

My granddaughters had a sleepover at our house earlier this week.  I got dressed and then called out the door offering Eve and Elin the option of selecting the Happy Socks that I would wear to work.  The two of them (ages 3 and 6) bolted in, pulled open my sock drawer and began perusing the choices.  Each held up a different pair.  And insisted that I wear “their” pair.  I asked that they confer (something like the U.S. Congress) to come up with one pair that I ought wear.  No deal.  Each wanted me to wear “their” pair. . . . .

Please understand that I am not as dumb as I look.  So we reached a compromise.  For the first time in my life — I agreed to wear two highly different colorful socks to work.   My granddaughters looked at each other like – he really is as dumb as he looks.  And squealed.  Each peeled off one sock and handed it to me.  I sat down and put them on.   The good news is that I told no one else about my wardrobe issue.  No one looked at my feet.  And no one (that I could tell) noticed during the day.  I arrived home unscathed from my Solomonic decision.   That said – I tossed the two socks down the laundry chute for washing.  And I will await their delivery — to reunite them with their rightful partner. . . . .   

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