If I ever doubted, I don’t anymore. God’s still in the miracle business.
Tim’d been living out of a suitcase for two weeks, and he’d been telling me every day for the past four that he’s one pair of clean socks short.
“You have socks for brains?” I tended to reply. “Well that explains some things.”
If memory serves, he laughed–the first time.
Of course, I knew what he really meant: he was going to wake up Friday morning, pull open his top dresser drawer, and panic. Panic, I say! Because it would be empty. NO SOCKS.
Friday. The very last day of our 12 day trip.
One stinking pair of socks short. What are the odds?
Every time he brought it up, I brushed him off. “Oh, honey, don’t worry. I’ll wash a pair in the sink. It’ll all be fine.”
But did I do it? Tuesday afternoon came and went. Wednesday afternoon came and went. Thursday afternoon came and went.
No clean socks magically appeared.
I blacked a huge chunk out of my daily planner Thursday night for the dirty deed.
“Are you sure they’ll be dry?” Tim worried me.
“Yes. Of course they will.” (secretly, I wasn’t so sure…but the bathroom came conveniently equipped with a blow dryer.)
As all professional procrastinators know, last minute plans are always fraught with danger.
Thursday, Tim worked late (and by late, I mean late). As a result, he picked me up even later from friends’ house. We stumbled into our hotel room in the wee hours of Friday morning, and there was the bag of dirty laundry, and 11 pairs of smelly socks calling my name.
That was when I checked the suitcase just in case.
There, in the very bottom back corner: a clean pair of black socks.
I have never loved a pair of socks so much in my life.