There it is then. Things like this just don’t happen to me. Well, there was that one other time, but that was clearly not my fault. There was the move and stuff, and others were involved where they shouldn’t have been, and then there was…but best not to get off subject here.
I can deny it all I want close my eyes and pretend this isn’t happening, but when I open my eyes the proof is still sitting right there on the bed, lying there in sullen silence, wordless rebuke oozing from every fiber. ‘This is your fault, now fix it’ is insinuated in every second of silence.
You are supposed to be better than this, you with all your planning and scheduling, you with your lists and systems and anal attention to detail. How does something like this happen to you? How is it possible?
I have to look away from the bed and the silent recriminations and begin a mental systematic check of my policies and procedures. First I need to see if I can find a flaw in my foolproof and carefully manufactured system. If I find no flaw and all checks out well in that area, then I must begin a careful backtracking to see where I let the system down.
Muttering to myself I mentally move from step to step in my prudently constructed methods. Methods that though you might laugh have developed over years hands on experience. Years of tweaking and perfecting a system to make it time efficient and labor economical as well as showing the utmost care for individual needs; for their well being and proper handling.
And yet there is the dour proof on the bed, I’ve made a mistake; a misstep. How does something like this happen to me? Suddenly, like the quick and unexpected jolt of static shock you get when you reach for a doorknob, it comes to me. I bolt from the room where I can still feel the sting of criticism aimed at my retreating back and rush out to the garage. I pull open the drier door and there it is. Sitting on one of the drum paddles looking at me as if to say ‘what took you so long’. I pull it out apologizing and take it to the bed to reunite it with its lonely partner. All rebuke and recrimination forgotten in the joy of the reunion.
Another pair of socks happily reunited.
