If the state of a man’s sock drawer is proof of how well taken care of he is, then let me say now that my husband is poorly cared for.
Before you start in on what a terrible wife I am, I tried! Oh, how I tried. Early on in our marriage, I DID fold his socks. Every last stinking pair. Early on in our marriage, I DID attempt to organize that drawer, but ask me how long it stayed that way? There was just no way to help it, it was just single, solitary me against a man and his army of a thousand pairs of white tube socks.
Friends, my attempts at organizing My Love’s sock drawer was a fool’s errand, and it didn’t take me very long to admit defeat. But it’s okay. We’re okay. I’ve been liberated from “Sock Keeping Frustration” and Huzz is… still the same (to him, his sock drawer is a non-issue).
Instead of laying his socks down in neat little folded stacks, I can literally throw/stuff/shove them in there. His socks are clean and in the drawer, ready for use – isn’t that all that matters? Besides, all Huzz does is blindly pull out a pair every morning before work.
Someone out there needs to hear this message and get a revelation. Set yourself free from Sock Guilt!