Me: Here, these socks don’t match.
Ed, The Husband: Okay, give ’em to me.
Me: Wait. What are you doing?
Ed: …Rolling my socks.
Me: But they don’t match.
Ed (looks at mismatched socks, looks at Me): So?
Me: So, you can’t wear mismatched socks!
Ed (looks at mismatched socks, looks at Me): Why not?
Me: Because you can’t!
Ed: But I do all the time. Lots of my socks don’t match.
Me: But doesn’t that drive you crazy?!
Ed (pauses): No. They’re in my boots.
Me: How can that not drive you crazy? Don’t you feel that they’re mismatched?
Ed: Um. No.
Me (triumphantly): But you know it!
Ed: For maybe 15 minutes. But then I forget about it.
Me: How can you forget about it?
Ed (shrugs): They’re in my boots.
Me: But there are mismatched socks in your boots!
Ed (tilts head): I’m not looking at them.
Me: There is something wrong with you.
Ed (grins): There’s something wrong with your mom.
Me: There’s something wrong with your face.
Ed: That’s not very nice.
Me: And you wear mismatched socks!
We have a very mature relationship.
*Okay, so not really. I was just trying to come up with a funny post title and have totally hoodwinked you into thinking I was being kinky. Mea culpa.