Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Socks and Sangrias (Alternately titled: Another Evening with Brock and Johi)

I sighed and plopped down on the couch. "Thank you Lord, for summertime and sangria."

The kids were in bed. It was the first moment all day that no one was talking at me- demanding things from me- trashing my home/yard/patio as I turned my back to load the dishwasher. I closed my eyes, breathed deep into my belly for the first time in four months and took a sip of burgundy chilled deliciousness. After another twelve hour shift with two kids and no naps, I was cooked. And the week had just begun...

I opened my eyes.

There they were, in my direct line of vision; Brock's socks... on floor. The balled up, greasy, stinky, dirty work socks sat on the carpet I had just vacuumed. At the end of a long day, during my one hour of relaxation before I closed my eyes and started all over again the following day, I was left to stare at my hard-working husband's used up man stockings. Seriously, man? Seriously???

Not even three sangrias can erase the irritation of skanky ass work socks with some dog hair encrusted tape stuck on the bottom. I couldn't stop staring at those nasty used socks. Then the unthinkable happened. The socks were ruining my happy sangria buzz. 

Finally (after approximately 42 seconds), I turned to Brock and firmly said, "We have a problem. Your socks are on the rug. Again. Can you please pick up your socks?" I added, as a warning of sorts, "They are pissing me off."

I looked at his gnarly feet and vowed to teach my sons about pedicures.

Brock picked up the discarded socks, wadded them into a tighter ball and shoved them under his thigh, which rested on the couch one foot away from me.

He looked me dead in the eye and said, "No, YOU have a problem."

I sat in stunned silence. My eyebrow raised so high it was as if The Good Lord himself was pulling it to the heavens with fishing line and a barbed hook. Then my face recoiled. I think my neck ate my chin. My right eye finally started to twitch. Stabbity stab stab...

Then Brock said, "It's my socks. They're on the floor. Again. That's your problem."

..... for a moment, I thought I heard the voices of angels singing.

Then I laughed, "You're right. That IS my problem."

Then he gallantly said " AND I WILL PUT THESE SOCKS IN THE LAUNDRY!"

I asked, in all seriousness, "Do you know where that is?"

He got up off the couch and headed to our bedroom, in the proper direction of the dirty clothes hamper and I felt... was it hope? Hope of a brighter future? Yes. I heard him say, "Right here!"

Then he questioned himself and muttered, "Is this the dirty laundry basket?"

I said, "Yeeeeeessssss."

Then he threw them on the floor next to the laundry basket.

I'm going to need more sangria.

Here's the recipe!

Johi's Sangria
Get a fancy schmancy pitcher. Mine is from Wal-Mart. Pour in:

  • a shit ton of inexpensive red wine from the box siting on your countertop
  • a lemon, not moldy, sliced and de-seeded
  • a lime, not brown, sliced and de-seeded
  • a tiny orange, it was sketchy, I will not lie, sliced (a large fresh orange would have been lovely)
  • the rest of the almost furry strawberries that had been sitting in the fridge for who-knows-how-long, topped and sliced
  • a splash of orange juice
  • a splash of pink lemonade (because it looked pretty and I love lemonade)
  • a generous dose of apricot brandy

Mix together into a glass container and pretend like you are going to put it into the fridge to "cure" overnight. Fuck that noise, I immediately poured mine into a glass of ice and topped with lemon-lime soda.

Drink liberally until husband transforms into that charming man that you once married.

Peace, Love and Laundry Baskets That Even a Man Can Locate,


  1. This post would have been funny if it didn't totally stress me out beyond belief due to the mirror image of my life with the floor laundry. Waddup with that? Really! I need a sangria.

    1. I know. I'm sorry. I was going for funny but often the reality is too severe. I get that. Sometimes I laugh anyway, you know... so I don't cry.

  2. Wait till the boys grow up then you will have three men in the house! My son, all of 28 (yes he still lives with me as rents are too high and I still do his laundry) doesn't know how to lift the lid off the laundry bin and put his clothes in...
    will be trying that Sangria recipe, sounds delicious.

    1. At least they will do all the yard work for me.

  3. there are socks all. over. my. house.

    I think I need to try making sangria some time.

    1. WHAT IS UP WITH PEOPLE AND THEIR SOCKS? I knew it wasn't only Brock! There is NO WAY that I am telling him how many others do it. He will use it as his excuse until the end of time!

  4. I LOVE sangria! But you're right. There are some things even sangria can't help.

  5. Hahaha! You know what's funny? I sometimes take my socks off in bed with my feet. Then I push them way down down to the bottom of the bed and forget about them. Because I'm short. But my husband isn't. And he finds them all the time. It drives him mad.

    I guess real love is about not killing each other over socks, huh.



    1. But you are adorable and could get away with murder. Don't murder anyone though. That was just an expression.

  6. "Next to the laundry basket." No. Oh no. I experienced this whole post vicariously, and without sangria. Not cool. I have ONLY sketchy ingredients.

    1. There is a stench in my fridge at this very moment. I keep hoping the butler will find it and dispose of it. The butler sucks.