The Great Sock Swap

Some domestic disputes are loud.
Some just involve silent sock theft and a drawer full of questions.

Story:
She held the socks like forensic evidence.
Grey. Slightly stretched. Questionable origin.
He shrugged.
“They were in my drawer.”

Ah yes. The sacred drawer.
Where all things are legally transferred via proximity.
Possession: 9/10ths of the laundry.

They weren’t even good socks.
But now, they were his.
Because he’d found them.
Because she hadn’t claimed them.
Because that’s apparently how sock law works now.

She opened her mouth to argue.
Then closed it.
She wasn’t losing a marriage over mid-weight cotton-blend ankle wear.

Instead, she updated the mental inventory:

• Trust: intact
• Boundaries: negotiable
• Socks: neutral zone

She added “label socks” to next week’s to-do list.
Right under “burn the drawer.”

She let him keep them. But only because launching a custody battle over ankle socks felt like too much admin.

Reflection

The rules of ownership are clear… until they’re not.
Is it theft, laziness, or the beginning of a standoff?
At some point, you stop fighting the sock battle.
And start documenting the absurd logic instead.