Tickled pink

Exercise: 2.1-mile walk with Denali

Weeks. It was definitely over the course of a couple weeks that Mark had been requesting that we ditch the winter’s flannel sheets for some crisper, cooler, good ole fashioned sheets. And now that it’s spring – officially – I gave in.

We stripped the bed of the blue warm goodness, tossed them in the laundry and pulled out a white set (that will be bleached soon enough) from the cedar chest. Mark gave met he task of putting the clean cover back on the duvet as he shook out the sheets.

One shake.

Two shakes.

Three shakes.

And then I saw something pink fly.

“Were you looking for this?” Mark asked, holding up a fuchsia Recovery Sock.

I jumped. I squealed. I clapped. I jumped. I squealed. I clapped. I jumped. I squealed. I clapped.

You would have thought that Mark had shook out a Tiffany necklace or a kate spade bag or a pair of Jimmy Choos the way I was acting. But no, it was my Recovery Sock – a $15 sock - that I haven’t seen since November and I only know this because I wore them for the W.O.O.F.

Its mate, sad and lonely, has sat in the drawer all that time, hoping I would find it come moving day when we would move the bed (or the day I e-mailed the manufacturer asking for a single sock). Who knew we had folded it up in some sheets?! Thank goodness Mark nagged me to death suggested that we change to a spring bed.

They are now reunited - the socks, that is – waiting for my next long run. Or the day when the doctor gives me a recommendation to wear some sassy compression hose to help with swelling. Heck, maybe I’ll wear ‘em for fun since I missed the one so much.