“SOCKS?” I shouted at Husband.
“Um…yes…socks.” He shot me a, my-wife-has-finally-gone-over-the-edge look.
“You never said anything about buying socks before I got in the car.” I pressed my hands against my head, afraid my brain would explode. “Okay. Okay.” I breathed in to a count of ten and then slowly out to a count of ten. “Just give me a minute to wrap my head around socks being added.”
This is how much I hate shopping. The original plan had been to go to the mall and buy Husband a couple of short-sleeved shirts.
I’d walked around the house all morning talking to myself to prepare.
“It’s just two shirts, Teresa. You can do this.” I spent ten minutes deep breathing as I visualized the two of us wandering aimlessly around the entire men’s department looking for the perfect shirt at the perfect price. At 11:00 I told Husband I was ready to go.
Then, we got in the car and he said, “I thought we’d pick up some socks while we were there.”
I mean really, any of you would have had the same reaction right?