The stray sock conundrum

James and I are a relatively happy couple. We encounter very few problems from day to day, and the issues that do arise, are trivial. We are moving in together this May, which brought up a discussion that needed to be had: will we be able to coexist peacefully?

We started this discussion after our happily married friends brought up how annoying it is that they are different types of toothpaste squeezers. Sounds small, right? Well, you would be surprised. Statistics show that many couples who break up after living together do so, not because of one huge traumatic event, but because of the buildup of small events that just really really piss you off. Now, I am not worried at all about our toothpaste friends, but this started us thinking about different things that could possible arise during our cohabitation.

So, I asked James what types of things he notices around my house that he may not necessarily find agreeable. His answer was pretty simple: when I brush my teeth sometimes the globs of toothpaste get stuck on the sink and that really irks him. Whatever. I can deal with that. At least it wasn't something like, "I really hate the way you smell", or, "Your laugh is terrible". I can think of many, many other things that could be worse. It could have easily been an irreversible habit.

Now it was my turn. What does he do that he could maybe change before I move in? Something about his god damn socks.

I love everything about you, except for your stray socks.

The sock issue has come up before. I can't really explain why I feel this way about stray socks. I absolutely loathe unattended socks. I cannot bear to see them alone, crumpled up in the hallways, hanging limply off the corner of the bed, and worst of all... silently tucked into the sheets of the bed, patiently waiting to graze my bare foot.

I cringe just writing about it now. ACK!

I enjoy wearing socks. I like them on my feet. They are like little personal sleeping bags for your feet. However, when I am finished with them, before bed, I usually toss them into the laundry bin. I have never been able to sleep in socks. I think this stems from when I was younger, my mom used to tell me, if I wore socks to bed, the angels couldn't kiss my toes. Kinky foot fetish angels.

James, on the other hand, will often wear his socks into bed when he is cold, then slyly wiggle them off of his feet as he warms up and leave them in the bed.

This means they are there, in the bed, lurking. Dirty socks are disgusting. It doesn't matter who they belong to. I bet even Anderson Cooper has gross dirty socks. They creep me out. James' discarded socks will stay in the bed until I discover them. Once, to my horror, I found several pairs, all tucked into the sheets.

For me, there is nothing worse than rolling over and tucking my feet into a cool patch of blankets at night, and my feet rubbing against an unidentified object. You know how sometimes, when you go swimming in a lake, and something brushes against your leg? The water is dark enough that you cannot see what it is and the fear and reaction is just about enough to shoot you straight out of the water onto safe, dry land. That's just about how I feel when I find a sock in the bed, except, imagine the something that brushed your leg in the lake, was, in fact, a lone dirty sock.

So, in order for us to successfully continue our relationship I will be washing my toothpaste down the drain and James will have to keep all unattended, dirty socks out of my sight. I think this is doable.