Dear Dr. Phil- IF HE ROTATES HIS SOCKS, IS THAT A LEGAL REASON FOR DIVORCE? by Kristen Houghton Of all the reasons women might have for filing for divorce, I will bet no one has ever said they a want a divorce because their husband rotates his socks and underwear. I can just hear Dr. Phil’s reaction if some poor misguided woman on his show was to cite sock rotation as a reason for divorce. She would be totally humiliated. “You wan’ a da-vorce for whut? Rotates his socks?! That’s like sayin’ you’re gettin’ a da-vorce ‘cause Texas rain is coming ev’ry second Tuesday-it duddin’ make sense! Get over it!” Okay, Dr. Phil, but you don’t live with a “Rotator,” I do. I know that if you actually lived in the same house with him, you’d either kill him or be more understanding. Someday you'll be talking about Rotator Syndrome on your show, I just know it. And it’s not just socks and underwear he rotates. I went to take bowls out of the cabinet and found there were only two on the left side but ten on the right. I was abruptly stopped from taking bowls from the right side by my husband yelling from the doorway, “Honey, no! Not the right side!” He hurried over and took the last two from the left. “What’s the difference?” I asked. “What’s the difference?! We haven’t used these two in a month.” “And?” Big sigh. “I’m rotating the bowls.” “Why?” Bigger sigh. “So they get even wear. You don’t want to keep using and washing the same bowls over and over again, do you? The color will fade and they won’t look like all the other bowls. ” Oh, heaven forbid they shouldn’t look like the other bowls! Silly me. The faded bowls might feel inferior. The first time I was even aware he was a “rotator” was right after our honeymoon. (Those of you who are thinking sexual thoughts, stop it right now! We’re talking socks here!) One afternoon I came into the bedroom to find all his socks, neatly lined up in pairs and same colors, on our bed. “I thought I put those in your drawer,” I said. “You did, I’m just rearranging them for rotation.” “For what?” “For rotation. I want them to get even wear, so I arrange them in order of when I wore them with the ones recently washed put at the end of the rotation line. See? Black, grey, brown, striped, argyle, and so on.” I was shocked and it wasn't at the fact that he even owned a pair of argyle socks. It was the same with his underwear. Same colors together, newly washed placed at the bottom of the neat pile in the drawer. His closet is a rotator’s paradise. Slacks, suits, shirts, even shoes are constantly in a state of rotation. God forbid I put something in the closet “out of order;” he will notice. “Honey? Did you know that you put the blue French cuff shirt in the wrong place. It should go next to the grey striped shirt but definitely one shirt behind the crème-colored one. The blue one shouldn’t be next to the crème one.” “Why? Don’t they like each other?” I say a bit sarcastically. “Very funny, no, it’s because I…” “I know, I know. Because you rotate them.” “Now you’re getting it,” he says kissing me on the top of my head. Even bathroom tissue comes under the critical eye of “the rotator.”I found him rearranging rolls of tissue in the bathroom cabinet. “What are you doing?” “I’m putting the ones we bought yesterday in the back of the row. We should really use the older rolls first.” “Are you kidding?!” “You don’t say anything about it when I put the older bags of salad in front of the newer ones in the refrigerator.” “That’s because they have a last sale date on them. You should use the older ones before their sale date expires.” “So, isn’t it the same with bath tissue?” I give up! My friends tell me I’m lucky in a way. I don’t have to put his clothes away and I don’t have to worry about straightening anything because everything is so neat. I guess they’re right but too much neatness can drive you crazy. Especially when the rotating spouse, finished with rotating hisstuff, sets his sights on rotating yours. T he worst was what he did with my computer. Notice I said my computer. After arranging icons, info bars, favorites, sub-topics in favorites, and e-mail in rotation order on his own computer, he tackled mine. I came home to find I couldn’t find anything. “Alan!! What happened to my computer! Omigod! All my stuff was on it, all my articles, all my stories; my entire writing world, my life!! Where is everything?!” He came running upstairs to check. “No sweetheart, relax, relax. Nothing happened, everything is still there.” “Oh, thank God! What do you think it was, a minor malfunction, a computer glitch, a powerfailure, what?” “No, no, none of those things. I did it.” “You did it? You almost gave me a heart attack by letting me think I lost my life’s work? What are you, some crazy sadist to do that to me?!” “Sweetheart, you’re overreacting. I did this for you not to you. I just rotated everything so it was neat; new items in front, old ones in back. See? I arranged all your articles, stories, everything you wrote, by date. Two years ago, a year ago, last month, last week, and today. Come on, admit it, isn’t this much easier for you?” “It was easier before!” “No it wasn’t, how could it have been? This is perfect.” “Change it back!” “You want it changed back? But how are you going to know what you did last when you’ve got everything all out of order?” “Trust me, I’ll know. Now please, honey, please, please, please, change it back!” “Okay, if you’re sure, but…” “No buts, just do it for me, okay? I have a system.” He looks at me skeptically but changes everything back to my “disorder” for me and promises me that he’ll leave me to my chaotic system. I guess I can live with his rotating habits as long as he keeps those habits only for his own things and leaves me happily out of rotation. Thanking him with a big hug, I go downstairs to the living room to call for take-out. I notice that the phone looks different. It’s the receiver. “Alan? Why is the bedroom phone receiver down here? Is there something wrong with the other one?” He calls down the stairs, “Oh that. No, it’s just that we always use the receiver in the living room and the ones in the bedroom, your office, and my office, don’t get even wear and since they all fit into the same holders, I decided to rotate them once a week. First the bedroom phone, then my office phone, then your…” He has got to be stopped. Picking up the phone, I call information, ask the computer voice for a number, and have it automatically dialed. Humiliation on national television be damned. Some brave soul has to be the first to do this. I sigh as I hear, “The Dr. Phil Show. How may we direct your call?” Home Page Meet Kristen Book Information Articles Media and Links Calendar Publicity Photos Contact Info Content copyright© 2008 by Kristen Houghton. All rights reserved. This material was written by Kristen Houghton and may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed, wholly or in any part, without the expressed written permission of Kristen Houghton Copyright additionally covers all material written by the author under the name CK Houghton |
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