I stood in the kitchen slapping together PB&J's while my husband, at the kitchen table, scrounged through a pile of my son's laundry to find matching socks.
The sock situation frustrated him.
"Jonah has fewer socks every day," he complained.
I shrugged. Matt worries about some things, I worry about others.
"We should just throw this one away," he said. I happened to have the gargbage drawer opened at the moment, so I stood back and pointed into it while making meaningful eye contact with Matt. He lobbed the white sock across the kitchen. It flopped over the edge of the garbage bin. I picked it up and inspected it.
"This is a perfectly good sock," I said. "Let's just save it. The other one might be in the wash."
"I guess so," he said. He held out his hand for me to toss the sock back across the kitchen.
"Are you guys flopping socks?" Audrey asked. She was at the counter pretending to spread jam on a piece of bread, but really licking the knife.
I smirked. "Is that like knocking boots?" I asked Matt.
"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.
I smiled. "Yup. And I guess flopping socks is what married people do."