The Sockman

Trish stole into Ted’s bedroom almost immediately after he disappeared into the bathroom. She was sure he was hiding something, and everyone knew that there was no better place to hide something than in a bedroom.

Trish’s girlfriends both suspected that Ted was keeping a secret. Otherwise, his existence didn’t make any sense — he stood well outside the usual genre of never-married, thirty-five-year-old men, what with his passion for tea, his dashing smile, his low-stress job, and his high salary. When Trish and Ted had first met, almost three months ago now, he had taken her to dinner seven nights in a row. Seven nights! And he had footed the bill every time! When she told her girlfriends that, they just about lost their minds. Now it was three months in, and Trish was falling hard — who wouldn’t, for a never-married, thirty-five-year-old man with all his hair? — and she needed to find out what could possibly have kept him from tying the knot with someone else already.

So when Ted stood up, saying, “I think I need to use the restroom, please excuse me,” Trish leapt into action. She had a plan: first, she got out her cellphone and opened the camera, ready to document any evidence she could find against Ted. Next, she took a moment to appreciate that Ted used the word “restroom” instead of “bathroom,” like a true gentleman — a tiny, breathless “Aw!” escaped her lips. Then, clutching the cross necklace she wore for good luck, she tiptoed to the door of the bedroom. A deep breath, and she turned the knob.