50 Shades of Beige - The Blog Post

First, dear readers, let me say that this is in no way related to the apparently hilarious parody book of the same title. I will, as a nod to the author, place the link to this e-book at the bottom of this post because the reviews seem to name it as one of the seven wonders of the modern world.  Also, for those of you who were expecting a Keith-esque erotic post, I am sorry to disappoint...but no...never again. (That joke is probably only funny to Randy and Heather, but I couldn't resist.)

This, my friends, is a story of socks.

At 6:30 am my phone erupts into illuminated animation resonating "Sherwood Forest" trumpet blasts into my sleep befuddled mind.

Gondor calls for aid! Rise!

At 6:31 am, I hit the snooze button.

Gondor can go F itself. 

The cats, however, are not so easily dissuaded. Our oldest - he is 18 and will likely outlive us all - hears the clarion call of my alarm and proceeds to reinforce it's insistence with his own cries of hunger.

In my ear.

While standing on my chest.

Time to make the doughnuts.

I get up and stagger to the kitchen, all the while mumbling, "Yes, yes. I hear you. Dammit cat! Watch where I'm walking!"

I switch on the light. Gaaaaahhh! The light. It burns! The stove light then. Yes, precious, better in the darksessss. 

The saucers for the food are in the front of the dishwasher. I place them on the counter and then open the tin of cat food. 

Dear God in Heaven! What is this stuff? It smells like baby vomit and sardines.

With a grimace and a deft shift of a spoon, I portion out the food. The meowing only stops once the food is under there noses.  The cats are quiet now.

Sigh.

Time for tea.

A magic elixir made from fermented and dried leaves of the Camellia sinensis plant. A potion that turns this shambling, mostly dead individual into a functioning (-ish) adult. All tea, no matter the type, comes from this miracle plant and I thank the universe for it's creation every morning.

Amen, Hallelujah, and Boom Shacka Lacka.

I settle into the couch and am soon joined by the same cats who were previously so vocal.  They curl up on my lap as the television waits for the satellite receiver to send it this days signal. The news first as the weather is of interest to me. I could use my phone, but I suppose I am old fashioned. I must wait through the dreadfulness of the day and night before first.

What has the Pretender tweeted about now? Should I run for government? I can't handle to lunacy at my own job, let alone Washington. 

Oh look, another murder. No wait, three. How many on the east side? All of them. Awesome. Hey, that one is close to where we used to live. We did the right thing in moving.

Death toll in Puerto Rico is 450 or more. WTF.  Virgin Isles is 200 or so. I wonder what I could actually do instead of donate. 

The weather comes on eventually. I get what I need and switch to TMC. There is always some B&W flick on at that time. Something that doesn't suck at my soul like the news.

The family comes out and the morning routine begins in earnest. There are showers to be taken and breakfast to be eaten before the mad dash to dress for the day and get out the door. It is now, in this part of the morning, where I am faced with my greatest challenge.

All of my dress socks are beige. All of them.

But they are not all the same shade of beige. My eyesight not being what it was, I have to lay them all out on the bed and try to match the hues of light brown with one another. It just won't do to have odd socks on, now will it?

This is my life? Stood here every morning trying to match beige socks?

This is my existential quandary every morning. Do I face another day of paper pushing and office politics or burn these socks and go running into the wild to live as a hunter/gatherer as our ancestors did?

At-ti-ca! At-ti-ca!

But then, I remember why I watch the news every morning. The weather is of interest, certainly, but that's not the real reason. It's for this moment and any other moment during the day that makes my resolve pale.

It could have been me that was shot there on the east side. Worse, it could have been one of my family. 

Those hurricanes leveled everything. Everything. Not a building nor power pole left standing. Those poor bastards might as well be living in the stone age. 

I could be in Washington losing my mind as I fought against the wrong or losing my soul as I become complicit in it. 

Maybe...just maybe...beige socks aren't so bad.


https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13643699-fifty-shades-of-beige