Blue socks don’t go with what I’m wearing. Yet, there they are, peeking out from between my shoes and pants. Black shoes and black pants, I might add. Did I mention I’m wearing a green shirt. How did this happen? Has anyone else in this meeting noticed. Why didn’t my administrative assistant notice this?

Those are the thoughts that went through my head Monday morning. Now, before you call the fashion police or the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy people, cut me some slack. I had just worked a long weekend at the WIBC Salvation Army RadioThon.  So, I feel I deserve a fashion mulligan. I’m sure when I put them on, my sleep deprived brain thought they were black.

Besides, I would never let the Queer Eye guys in my house. Not because I’m homophobic, but because I saw them throw some poor guy’s football jerseys in the trash! Call me crazy, but the chapter of Trolley Dodgers that everyone seems to think is the funniest was written while wearing a 1966 Brooks Robinson/Baltimore Orioles Road Jersey and those 5 clowns would have to pry it from my dead hands before I give it up (whew, that felt good to let it out).

So, back to the meeting. After contemplating my sock situation, it occured to me that someday I will get married. And since it’s becoming common for people to write their own vows, I decided that I’m going to write a sock clause into the vows:

I, Jeff, take you (insert suggestions here), to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, in baseball season and the rest of the year, to love and to cherish, and to assist in the determination of proper sock/outfit coordination; from this day forward until death do us part.

I think that about covers it. Now, I’ve got to change my socks.

Carry on, Citizens!