Everyone must have a staging center. Mine is the dining room table. It seems that everything coming into the house must be deposited on that table, then sorted, and distributed. On the same day I purchased a dozen rolls of toilet paper for Chase, I found kids Nike socks at Sam’s — a 6 pair-pack for $3.25. I bought them because they might fit Adrienne, or they might be nice to put in a donation box. They were thick and soft. While I put the toilet paper where Chase could get it, the socks sat on the dining room table.
This morning as I dressed for work, I realized there were only two Cardis under foot — and neither of them was Chase. So I went looking for him. He was curled up in one of the dog beds with the six pairs of socks. He had removed the band that held them together and was tenderly mouthing them.
It was, as always, totally my fault. I had failed to push my chair under the table after coffee and the newspaper. Chase had used the chair to get onto the table and then purloined the socks.
So now they can’t be a “present” because they need to be washed, and the little wrapping band that announces “new” is in smithereens. The sock theft has temporarily satisfied his fabric fetish. What’s next? Whatever it is, it will again be totally my fault.