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I am convinced that the world has become far too complicated for me. I recently bought a new truck and there were pages of options and packages to consider and when, and only when, I finished scrutinizing each item's description the young man, oh so very casually, pointed out that the selection of a particular feature also required the purchase of yet another feature. Eventually becoming weary of the decision process and complicated pages of options and packages, I asked the eager salesman to put everything available on the GMC truck. Maybe that's just what the young man was counting on.

I wash that new truck incessantly, as I find that the most minuscule speck of dust or dirt creates within me what can only be described as temporary insanity. There are mornings when I make the painful decision to avoid even the slightest of glances in the direction of the shiny black paint, as I know full well, that I will spend the ensuing several hours washing and polishing the seemingly flawed finish.

Oh, I suppose that there are those who may find this behavior to be somewhat compulsive, but I merely regard myself as a tidy person. I would leave the conversation regarding my faults as finished after the previous admission. However, there are other things about my life which some might find odd.

For instance, in the walk-in closet located just off the master bedroom, I have a tall and narrow built-in row of shelves. These shelves, at least for me, serve a very specific purpose. That one and only purpose is the storage of shoes. Now here comes the part of the story which some may find a bit strange. Occupying space on those shelves number 12 pairs of Adidas Superstar shoes; just, and nothing but, brand new Adidas Superstar shoes.

Okay, I am aware that there may be other casual shoes which might fit my feet and needs just as well, but I will not allow those alien foot coverings to live on those shelves. The probability that I will certainly never live long enough to enjoy every pair of shoes is meaningless to me. I just want and, yes, need those Adidas Superstar shoes. I know what you're thinking. The need for this seemingly exorbitant number of shoes is excessive, but I can't live with the thought that someday these Adidas Superstar size 9 ½ shoes will become unavailable -- heaven forbid.

Now, continuing with my confession, let's move on to the presence of one specific clothes rod in that same master bedroom closet. Supported by plastic hangers, and only plastic hangers, which dangle from the metal rod are more than 50 Under Armour Loose Fit Heat Gear T-shirts. These medium-sized shirts with the moisture wicking technology are arranged by color. I can't abide the presence of a red shirt intermingled with dark or light blue shirts. The thought of any intrusion by a scarlet shirt makes me visibly ill.

Just when I thought that I had come to terms with what I refer to as my funny little idiosyncrasies, a new aggravation came into my life. Maybe I went too far in calling this new issue an aggravation and should more precisely call it a slight nuisance. This nuisance started with a simple idea. I wanted to increase my supply of Adidas quarter-length socks. This proliferation would augment the quantity of socks in the already-full sock drawer.

A sock acts as a cushion between the shoe and the foot. It also provides some warmth on those cold winter days, and some might add that the cloth foot coverings can provide some savoir-faire to one's overall appearance; and who doesn't want to bring a little panache into his life.

I ordered three different styles of the Adidas socks and, after only a few days, the lady who delivers my mail left a package in the mailbox. Gathering up the soft-sided sock container and other miscellaneous pieces of mail, I brought the contents of the mailbox into the house. After depositing the miscellaneous bits of advertisements into the waste can, I opened the package.

The packing slip or receipt was scrutinized for, you see, I often forget what exactly it was that I ordered but, as my worn-out memory tried to recall the order I had placed, I soon calculated that everything was in order. There were six pairs of one style and one pair each of two other styles. That seemed right.

I removed the annoying thin piece of plastic that held the six pairs of socks together and they appeared to be ordinary and serviceable Adidas socks. One of the single pairs was removed from a clear bag and it too seemed fine. Now, this is where the trouble started.

The third and last pair was removed from a sealed bag. This pair was advertised as breathable and it had moisture wicking capabilities. I don't know if I need those features but maybe I do and just never knew it. As I examined this last pair of socks, something odd caught my attention. Something was stamped on the bottom of each sock.

Grabbing a pair of reading glasses, I brought one of the socks close to my aging eyes. Sure enough, there was something there. It was the letter "L." I picked up the other sock and once again raised the object up to my eyes. This sock had the letter "R" stamped on it.

I retraced the examination process several times but finally had to admit that these socks were foot specific. I placed all of the socks into the sock drawer but have not stopped considering the reasons why those socks must be worn on a specific foot. Therefore, I have decided to place each sock on the correctly identified foot and wear the pair for one day.

The warmth, comfort and breathability will be carefully noted. Then, I will place the "L" sock on the right foot and the "R" sock on the left foot. Barring any immediate catastrophe, I will once again allow the socks to remain there for a day and again note the sock's performance. I pray that no lasting damage will be done to my feet.

Well, that's the story. If the mood strikes me and if sufficient evidence is gathered leading to a conclusion regarding the experiment, I will share the findings with you. I plan to conduct the experiment, as you might expect, while wearing a pair of Adidas Superstar shoes.

Someday, I may tell you about the 14 15-ounce-sized cans of Rays Chili or the 24 16-ounce-sized bottles of Hubert's Blackberry lemonade that are stored in the kitchen pantry. I suppose I shouldn't mention the 12 containers of Hagan Dazs Green Tea ice cream that remain frozen inside the garage located freezer.

As I ready myself to proof this story and discover and correct what I am certain will be several, if not many, errors, I find that there is a glitch in the process. I seem to have misplaced my reading glasses and as such, I will have to delay the proofreading phase of the process. No worries though, I have eight identical pairs of reading glasses stored in a kitchen cabinet drawer. That's not obsessive-compulsive behavior, just strategic planning.

Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel, Mo. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.

Editorial on 05/02/2019

Print Headline: This Is Not Obsessive Compulsive Behavior

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