Who Will Buy My Ex His Socks and Underwear This Christmas?
Who Will Buy My Ex His Socks and Underwear This Christmas?
(check out my blog every Tuesday and Friday)
I was in the sock section of the men's department the other night, perusing the rows of dark knitted things, when I remembered I had no reason to be there.
All through our marriage, I had bought Edgar socks and underwear for Christmas. I'd get him something more interesting, too, but always socks and underwear because he was hell on those. It was like he could wear them out just by looking at them.
This year, I hope someone will buy my ex some socks. I am tempted to get him some, out of habit, and because I'm sure he needs them, but will refrain.
Buying those socks — bags, bundles, three-packs, an occasional single pair — was one of my wifely duties. I found surprising satisfaction in seeing to it that Ed's heels and toes were covered inside his shoes. It was the kind of thing he couldn't be bothered with, and I was good at. Isn't that one of the things marriage is about?
The Good Doctor says I liked being married. I guess she's right. Obviously I'm pretty sentimental about those dang socks. But you know what? A month into it, I seem to like being divorced, too.
I am free to create new holiday traditions for myself and the dogs and cats as well as to revisit some old ones.
The other night I watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with my parents for the first time in many, many moons. (We watched it together the first time it aired many, many, many moons ago.)
The experience was bittersweet, but this is a bittersweet time of year — no matter what the ads and "sounds of the season" insist.
Nothing will be as it was, nor will any of it be perfect.
My days of buying socks and shorts for Ed at Christmas are over. And that's just the way it goes.
I'll find something else to do with my time and effort.
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