I am lucky that I do not wear men's running shoes, sized 10-and-a-half. I am fortunate that I do not wear men's shirts, sized large, or men's socks, sized whatever.
I am lucky that I do not have any inclination to dab on men's cologne, or to slather on men's shaving cream, or to moisten my cheeks with some muskscented lotion, specifically made for men.
If I did, I would likely experience what my husband experiences: a shortage of all the above.
"For crying out loud," my husband says every other day as he's dressing for work. "Where the heck are my socks? I have NO socks! Have you seen my socks?"
I will shrug.
"Have you checked the sons' feet?" I will suggest.
I will make this sugges-tion because the sons, well, consider their father's closet an extension of their own. When they run out of socks - or shirts or runners or manly-style cologne - they will not check out my closet or my chest of drawers, where there'll be no such things to be found. They'll gravitate to their father's.
"This is crazy!" the husband will complain. "I have no white T-shirts, either. And I can't find my favourite golf shirt. And my cologne has mysteriously vanished."
I will point out to the husband that he might take this as something of a compliment. Some sons, after all, might find their father's items a tad on the, shall we say, mature side.
Not so in our household. In our household, either one of two things is happening. Either the sons have middle-aged taste, or the husband is a tad too cool for his own good.
No matter which is the case, the consequence is the same. The husband will be hunting for his runners, only to discover they've found their way on to some-one else's feet. Someone else who happens not to be home.
The husband has tried to remedy the situation. He has "talked" to the sons. He has placed a sign on his closet that says "Off Limits." And yes, he's even hidden his belongings.
"I can't find my socks!" he will wail. "Have you seen my socks??"
"Have you checked the sons' feet?" I will suggest.
"They ARE NOT on any one else's feet," he will inform me, "because I HID them. Only now I CAN'T FIND them. I thought I might have put them in the FREEZER, but they ARE NOT in the freezer."
"Have you checked the cereal drawer?" I will ask. "Maybe you put them there."
"I would NOT put them in the CEREAL drawer," he will say, "because the sons happen to EAT cereal, in case you haven't noticed."
And so it goes.
The husband's unlucky, but not so much me. And until the children's shoe size shrinks, I think I should be fine.
