Diet by App – September 6 | Cranky Man's Lawn

Dear Readers: Some followers of Cranky Man’s Lawn seem not all that enamored with such personal, mundane posts as this series on reducing Cranky Man’s physical presence in The Real World. Yes, these status reports are more than a little self-serving and – maybe – not as gripping as my usual cutting edge opinions and humor. (Please don’t miss the HUMOR part of that last sentence.)

Anywho … It’s a PERSONAL blog! Get used to it.

That being said, I will endeavor to make these a bit more interesting with a few stories or tidbits not normally worthy of my renown writing abilities. (Humor … remember?)

And so without further ado …

Things that go Sock in the Night

That night was not a good night for sleeping. For some reason my on-again/off-again snoring habit (She will claim it more On-all-the-Time.) had reared its noisy head. I recall waking up several times with an admonishing voice in my ear and sharp pain radiating from the Her Side of my ribcage.

Yet at some point I was able to settle my snoring down and was sleeping rather fitfully.

It was still in the wee hours of that morning when I was nudged awake by my Better Half asking me to, ” … go downstairs and bring up the socks.”

“Huh …?”, I mumbled before realizing she was asleep and probably dreaming of some convoluted scenario where I was certain to do something not to her liking.

It never crossed my mind to ask what the damn socks were doing downstairs … in the dark … all by themselves. Figuring she would simply go back to sleep I – not surprisingly – fell right into the Convoluted Scenario Trap.

I responded, “Sure, honey, I’ll get them.” And I rolled over to get back to sleep … again.

I had been laying there for but a minute or two when I felt a sudden throwing back of the heavy quilt and my lovely wife’s legs swinging out over the edge of the bed.

“Where are you going?!?”, I asked groggily.

“Well, if you’re not going down to get the socks, I guess I’LL HAVE TO!”

I briefly considered letting her go downstairs to stand in the middle of the living room wondering what she was doing there or – even better – “Who the hell broke in and stole the socks?!?” But guilt and thoughts of costly medical bills from a fall down the steps in the pitch dark convinced me to – somewhat nicely – tell her to lay down; go back to sleep; she was dreaming …

She claims she doesn’t remember The Night of the Neglected Socks; but the laughs we’ve enjoyed since have been real enough.