Sock Procrastination

Throughout my adult life, I've had a certain pet peeve about non-committal sock wearing. Imagine, if you will, a lethargic man slumped in the center of a crumpled sofa, his face devoid of emotion or recognition, his eyes unfocused and unaware of my supremely powerful feminine death-ray vision. One foot, sheathed in a taut white tube sock, rests comfortably on the carpet, sinking ever so slightly into the thick nylon pile with the weight of a wet sponge. The other foot, naked and hairy, dangles in the air as he crosses one leg over his opposite knee in a casual and masculine way. In his hands, he holds the other sock, the matching mate, the flaccid and deflated companion sock. Time passes. He doesn't move. Why won't he put the other sock on? How can he sit there like that, staring out the window with only one sock on? I wait, I breathe noisily through my nose a few times, hoping he will sense my irritation and snap out of it, but the stalemate continues and I must leave the room.

This scenario has been played out multiple times, with different men and all varieties of socks. I asked my husband if he could explain this phenomenon. He says that it's a commitment issue, that sock procrastination is a way of delaying the impending responsibilities of the day. Once you put on that other sock, he says, you must commit to work.

I'm not sure if that is the explanation for every man or just my husband, but today I was shocked when my almost two-year-old son gleefully removed one sock during a diaper change. I asked if he wanted the other sock off, and he said no. I asked if he wanted the sock back on, and he said no. He spent the rest of the day running around the house with one sock on, one sock off, revelling in his lack of responsibility. He's so like his daddy.