Imagine an easy chair. It’s brown, striped, not too big, not too small, and sitting in our upstairs bedroom. Never, and I really for serious mean ever, have Joe or I sat in that chair. We have never used it for its purpose, of housing our bottoms, because it has been, since day 1 in our home, covered with assorted clothing. Periodically, Joe will go through and hang up all the shirts, pants and bras that have been tossed from my body onto that chair and for a brief moment, possibly two, we get to view its soft and cushie seat. But then *snap* it’s gone. Because it’s nighttime and I just got undressed.

Two days ago, as Joe strode in the bedroom and glanced at where the chair should be, he stopped short and stared at the impossibly high mound of clothing, a good four feet above chair level. “What?” I asked. He said, “I’m going to get the camera. This is something that everyone should see. I’m going to post it to my blog.” And then *poof* the pile magically disappeared and we all lived happily ever after. And the pile was never seen or heard from again because I learned my lesson and always hung up my clothes. The end.

Actually, I asked him not to and very thoroughly explained why him doing so would damage me physiologically for years and he couldn’t live with the guilt. He promptly apologized and suggested we make flash cards of all our innermost feelings and meet up in an hour to powwow. Our marriage was strengthened and now we always hold hands.

Actually, I quivered my lips and let a large, single tear gently fall from my right eye while pouting, ‘You just don’t love me.’ Joe then fell on his knees, crying and asking me for forgiveness. I let him squirm for a bit and then laid my hands on his head and blessed him. We never spoke of it again.

Actually, I threatened him with the loss of a limb, a small limb, if he ever made such a rash suggestion again. He knew I meant business, so he ran out and got me a Chai latte and gave me a foot rub for the next two hours.

Actually, I batted my eyelashes and moved my shoulders suggestively and asked if there was anything I could do to change his mind. I can’t tell you the end of this one, but suffice it to say, we both have large hickeys in the shape of Texas, his on his neck and mine on my thigh.

Actually, I told him I would sort all the socks if he would promise not to. And then he hung up all my clothes. Dude, I had the worse deal, let me tell you. Two huge baskets full of dirty, holey, sometimes crunchy boy tube socks. I had to go through and touch them all, about half of which I picked up with two fingers, pinky extended, tossing them directly into the trash bin. The entire time I had the EWWW mouth on my face.

And that’s the truth.

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  1. EWWWW. I think I like one of the previous endings better. It kills me that socks can get that dirty…even when shoes are ON. I’ve never, ever figured it out. I have two girls, and thought it wouldn’t be that bad (though I do hear that crunchy boy tube socks are worse). The problem is, when I sort the socks, I never find the matching pair. Good thing it’s the style to wear different one’s nowadays.

  2. I have the same sort of chair. It’s for de-clothing purposes only. I also have a laundry basket full of clean clothing that will most likely never be folded ever. But thankfully my dirty laundry bag is completely empty. I always look at the chair and sigh heavily and really think about hanging up the clothes and yet it NEVER EVER happens.

  3. What worked for me? I got rid of the chair! now the pile is on the floor, and doesn’t look so big.

  4. […] As Leah and I laze around the house, not putting away clothes in the bedroom, I will fire up Google Reader and read blogs the way nature never intended, in a newsreader. One of the not-really-blogs I read this way is FARK. FARK is the apotheosis of what a nonsense everything/nothing site is on the web. One of the best things about it is the headlines, at least 10% of which make me laugh out loud, or at least chuckle. They also keep me up to date in the quickest way possible what’s happening in pop culture. […]

  5. we have a chair like that in our living room – it’s solely for piling up all the cuddling blankets which in turn one of our cats thinks is a giant throne-like bed made just for him. of course, this chair i’m certain is not nearly as comfy as the one you described, but since it’s only for holding things other than bottoms, i guess it doesn’t matter.

  6. Oh you had me at “socks”. I hate sock and well I love them. They sure go a long way to keeping my feet warm in our very cold Wisconsin winters, heck even our sunners rarely reach 80 degrees so they’re good then too. But I’m guilty of putting sock sorting off. I hate to match them and put them away. I never have enough mates and always 14-20 lone socks that won’t match anything, not even the curtains.

    Best Christmas present I could ever have (and I ask for it each year) is to get 365 pairs of socks so I could simply throw them away or wash them and throw them in a bag unmatched to give away. I wonder how much a sock maid would be. 🙂

  7. […] Today is Joe birthday. He’s 37 and will always be older than me. And smarter than me in many ways, except playing Guitar Hero, loading the dishwasher the RIGHT way, cleaning the house the RIGHT way and never buying enough pairs of pants. My studies show every person needs at least 15 pairs of jeans and his side of the closet is severely lacking. But, that’s all ok because he changes light bulbs, generally always puts away the laundry (THE CHAIR LAUNDRY) and sings in an operatic voice when I need him to. He gets spiders down from the very high ceiling so I can sleep at night and cleans the hair out of the drain. […]

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