Silver Anniversary in the Closet

I have been listening to the Sotomayor hearings for two days.  You know, the one where the white men who bear no prejudices ask condescending questions of the Latina woman who may possibly have had experiences in life that cause her to look at situations from a somewhat different perspective.

Thank goodness the white man I am married to is not one of “them.”  My sympathies to their wives.  That doesn’t mean that my sensitive white man isn’t from Mars.

A couple of days ago I dumped out a large basket of Dearly Beloved’s running clothes and asked him to go through them.  He agreed quite willingly.   The man doesn’t jog any more, so it seemed like a no-brainer.

Later, however, as we were driving back to Charlotte, he mentioned that he hadn’t had time to go through the clothes, but would do it next time we went back to the beach, so he had left them at my dumping site–the closet floor. Fine.  This is the statement that floored me:

“I saw a pair that I ought to be able to get rid of.  The elastic may be shot.  I bought them in New York in 1985.”

Good grief.

Recently my friend Linda sent me a clip of Jeanne Robertson, who sounds like my idea of the fun,  perfect neighbor, assuming one has the self-confidence to live next door to a former Miss North Carolina.   Her story of sending her husband, Left Brain, to the supermarket  gave me pause to think that yes indeed, we may all be married to the same man.   Unless, of course, he is in politics.   Those guys are a whole different species.  Don’t even get me started.

Last week when we got to the beach I told DB I was going to the grocery store.

“No, no!” he said.  “Why don’t you wait?”

So I waited.  The next morning I went out to breakfast with a neighbor and DB called me on my cellphone. “Will you get some V-8 juice if you go to the grocery store?”

I explained that we were at a restaurant, not a grocery store.   I wasn’t even driving, but since we had driven down together and HE had the car, I figured he knew that.

Nevertheless, when I walked in the house,  his first words were, “Did you get any V-8 juice?

I should interject that having a morning 16-oz. glass of V-8 juice is a near-religious experience for my husband. Don’t ask him about it because he will explain in merciless detail the merits of Tabasco over Texas Pete. It is more information than you will ever need unless you are planning a career as a Tabasco route salesman.   Our  two-year-old grandson sees it in the supermarket and calls it Granddad juice.

Later that day, DB was going somewhere and I said, “Will you stop by Food Lion on the way home and get some yard waste bags?”

“Sure.”

Bless his heart, he remembered them.  Fine job.  When he walked in, I asked, “Did you get anything besides the bags and your V-8?

There was a stricken look.  “Did you tell me to get V-8?”

Oh, well. . . at least he MAY get rid of a pair of running shorts he bought 24 years ago.  Maybe we should save them for another year and celebrate their 25th anniversary.

We can toast them with Bloody Marys made with V-8 and Tabasco…in silver cups, of course.


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11 thoughts on “Silver Anniversary in the Closet

  1. 247things

    I admire you for allowing your DB to go through his own running clothes and pick out what needs to be pitched. My wife “retires” my underwear, socks, work-out clothes, etc. based upon her own “standards.” Just when I get something broken-in it disappears. This is most distressing but after more than 38 years together I still don’t have a clue how to get this woman to stop messing with my stuff. She says the solution is for me to do my own laundry. This is definitely not an option. I think I lost any semblance of control a long time ago . . .

  2. db

    I have not given up jogging. I jogged as recently as last fall with my oldest grandson and my son-in-law.

    I have consequently changed my mind about the 24 year old NYC jogging shorts I used in Central Park.

    We’re going to see our oldest grandson and his brother in September. I’m taking those shorts to jog with my pals, the oldest grandson, who runs cross country, and his dad who runs mini marathons. Our oldest daughter will be there and I want her to be proud.

    I plan to get in shape for this run starting tomorrow.

    After I have my V8.

    1. la la la. . . Tomorrow. . . Tomorrow. . . it’s only a day away!

      The elastic is spent. The shorts are SHORT. For goodness’ sakes, don’t sit down in them.

      It would be better if you ran after dark.

  3. db

    They are not short. I was ahead of my time. They’re the current accepted length. They’re blue and 100% pure American cotton.

    After I put I put a safety pin in them, I’ll wear them with pride, around noon.

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