Day Thirty Eight

I dated him in these socks...

On dreary winter days when I am bored with the wardrobe, bored with the gray sky, bored with getting ready to go places while it is cold and dark, I dig to the bottom of my sock drawer and pull out something funky. I don't feel the need to make a scene when I go to church, but the private knowledge that I'm wearing cool socks is enough to give me a smile.

So, an amazing service ends (turns out, at this church, I really didn't need the socks. Just needed them to get there) and we head for home. After ten changes to our lunch choice (ended up at Subway. The bread was amazingly fresh!), We settled in and turned on the Superbowl. We're not really pro fans, but you've gotta check out the commercials. Harry Connick Jr. said that morning on the news that he was hoping for a Saints victory, of course, and that was good enough for me. Go Saints! Cool fleur de lis...

I wasn't totally engaged, however, and I got to looking at these socks (from the very bottom of the drawer) and I began to think about where it was I'd seen these before. I found myself at Bible College in 1987, in the chapel where we registered for classes. I was wearing my favorite pink sweater. It wasn't bubble gum pink or neon pink. It was a beautiful antique pink. It was also my last pink sweater ever.

These socks were so cute, back in the day, with my penny loafers (with pfennings tucked inside that I brought home from my trip to Germany that past Spring).

Someone else thought so, too.

I jumped ahead to our dates in the Rose Garden. I'd sit on his lap and we'd gaze, all goofy, into each others' eyes. We new the minute we started being more than friends that our futures would always be together.

More than twenty years later, I'm wearing those socks!