A Monday Morning Memo from The Wizard of Ads
Inside my boots today, one sock is black and the other is a pale shade of green. That’s why I’m wearing the boots. I’m wearing the socks because they are the only clean ones I own.
A number of weeks ago, I made a grand speech to my sons about how I was going to wash one small load of my own clothes each day, thereby illustrating that housework was not the exclusive privilege of their mother, as they had previously believed, but was in fact a joy in which we could all share.
Nineteen days later, I dumped sixty-one new pairs of socks onto the cashier’s table at the department store and said, “I plan to wash clothes this weekend. These are just to get me by until then.” I’m not sure why I felt I needed to make that announcement, but I did.
I am writing you today from my inner sanctum; the small, private office I maintain in a faraway corner of our home. If anyone suspects that I’m hiding two wheelbarrows full of dirty socks in here, they have not yet voiced their suspicion. I would make another trip to the department store, but I’m afraid that same cashier might be there. I’ll never forget his tone as he looked at the socks, arched an eyebrow and said, “Right.”
I should have known my life was getting too busy when I could no longer find time to buy gasoline. Thank God for Chris. Without him watching out for me, I would probably spend a lot more time leaning against my car at the side of the road, waiting for rescue.
I just don’t have the heart to ask Chris to wash my socks. That would be too pitiful, even for me. I’m no longer sure what to do.
Perhaps that cashier isn’t working today.
Roy H. Williams