Here's a dirty little secret Chez Two Sock Knitters.
The Fool can't deal with the mail. He mops floors, he kills bugs, he fishes gross wet food from the sink trap, he cleans litterboxes without a single nose-wrinkle ... but the one household task he really, really cannot handle is this: package an item and take it to the post office to mail.
When we first got married, I learned that he signed up for automatic bill payment because he could not manage to buy stamps in a timely fashion.
It's OK, though, because I like that kind of thing. I like picking out pretty postage stamps (I'll wait in line so I don't have to get the boring ones from the vending machine.) I like parceling stuff up and writing neat address labels. Now that I knit, I really don't even mind waiting in line for 10 minutes.
I thought we'd reached a breakthrough when the U.S. Postal Service introduced automatic package mailing kiosks in their lobbies. The Fool and I are big fans of those, and I thought maybe we'd cured his mail issues.
Then he announced a blog contest. For jelly. Which had to be mailed. I parceled up the jelly for family and shipped that off, and decided that he should be responsible for the blog contest jelly. I bought boxes and placed them on the dining table with newspaper and bubble wrap.
And I waited.
I mentioned it a couple times.
And a couple times more.
I felt like I was about to nag. And I don't like to nag people. I started thinking of extravagant things I could promise if he would only. Package. The. Damn. Jelly.
But last night, he did it! He parceled it all up.
And I forgot to take them with me this morning to mail.
I digress. Last night, while he was bustling around with packing tape and permanent markers, I mentioned that a key part of the Sock Wars contest is mailing your completed socks to your target.
"Oh," he said. "I'm so gonna lose."