Sock Folding

When we were first married, Erik and I didn't have a washer and dryer in the house. We used a local laundromat. Since Erik was more responsible than I am already familiar with the laundromat, he made the laundry run the first few times. I'm habitually unobservant, so I didn't pay much notice to the drastic change in my sock drawer. Cut to the day of my first stint at laundromatting. Fantastic. I know how to do laundry. I fold everything nicely, pack up the car, and bring the clothes home. After dinner, Erik and I start putting the clothes away. He picks up his socks. Freezes. Unsure smile on his face.

Me: "Yehhhhs?"
E: "Umm, yeah, umm, it's fine, but..."
Me: "Huh?"
E: "These socks" (holds them up like the first piece of evidence at a murder trial)
Me: .....
E: "This is how I fold my dirty socks"
Me: "You fold dirty socks?"
E: "Well, no, I mean, sometimes. I guess it's ridiculous"
Me: "Of course it's ridiculous"
E: "It's not THAT ridiculous. But that's not the point...See, you're supposed to take the socks, then fold them like this, then twist them like this...."

As Erik was making something that resembled a very compact, cotton flick football, I was reveling in our differences. And when I told him that I had never even pre-matched my socks before today, he looked at me wide-eyed, like I had been living without running water before this monumental day. And then he *very excitedly* showed me how to fold my "little socks". And you know what, darn it all, I listened.