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My husband wanders into the kitchen.

"Notice anything?" he asks.

I glance up from the myriad of morning chores I am multi-tasking.

He is dressed for work. Pants belted. Fly zippered. Dress shirt buttoned. Hair combed. Nothing seems amiss. Nothing pops out, screaming for attention.

"Not a thing," I say.

He humps. "What about my socks?"

My eyes travel to the floor. His left big toe is poking through a practically new black dress sock.

"Looks like you still have a lot of wear left in those socks."

"You would think that?" he sighs, exasperated. "But I don't. I want my socks thrown away when they develop a hole."

"Seems kind of wasteful when the rest of the sock is good as new."

"Toss them in the garbage," he reiterates.

"That sock still has a lot of good use in it. Just look at that heel. Barely used."

"Really?"

"What about reduce, reuse and recycle? I am sure I could come up with lots of uses for that sock."

"The garbage."

"I'm thinking," I call to his retreating back. "Ideas will be forthcoming."

Some people are resistant to change, to new ways of doing things, of ideas so valuable a patent may need to be taken out to protect them. My logical, linear husband is one of them. He would rather run from my ideas instead of embrace them.

I add thinking to my current tasks, and within microseconds my brain is saturated.

"Staple the hole shut and your sock will be good as new."

"I don't think so," he says, tugging off his sock.

"Unravel the two socks and use the nearly new yarn to knit a sweater."

"Theresa," he snaps. "The garbage."

"Aren't you giving a presentation at work next week? Turn the sock into a hand puppet. Your finger could go through the hole. Draw some eyes and a mouth and your puppet will have a head."

"No thanks," he says, leaving the room.

Some people are so impatient. Don't they know progress and new inventions take time. Patience.

"Hey," I call. "I have more ideas."

I raise my voice so he can hear them. "Wear them in the summer when your toe needs air conditioned. In the winter, wear them over another pair of socks for warmth. Your toe won't poke through, then."

Clearly returning to the bedroom for another pair of socks was more important than listening to my gem worthy ideas.

I might not have his full attention, but I was not ready to give up. Ideas were still percolating.

As he slithers through the kitchen and out the garage door, I try another suggestion.

"When brushing your teeth, slide your hand in the sock and the toothbrush through the toe hole. Now your hand will be splatter free of water and paste when you are done. Time and water will be saved."

I never did hear a response.

Maybe he was finally overcome with my brilliance. Or maybe he was making a mental note to remove his sock from the trash. Nothing like an experiment to confirm the validity of a good idea.

And then I hear it. The squeal of tires exiting our garage.

Poor guy. He must have been running a little late.

- Theresa Boedeker

Theresa Boedeker credits her husband and two children with helping her learn to laugh at life and herself. She enjoys unwrapping life with words at TheresaBoedeker.com. Tea, flowers, walking, creative projects, and writing and podcasting short humorous stories about life and the ensuing speedbumps bring her great joy. You can listen to her audio stories about Life as it Comes on her website.