The slippers of love
Dear Regular Guy,
Due to an error on my part last night, I found myself down the wrong end of the sofa. My husband had taken my spot and was laid out with his feet loafing about near me. His slippers were rank! What is it with men and really stinking slippers?
Dear Mrs. Nose,
Stay away from those feet! They are not there for your amusement or for your attention. They are just the things that help him get to the fridge whenever you are out of sight. We are not like you. When we put our feet up it is simply because we want to get comfortable. It is not-let's be clear on this-because we want you to start massaging them. I know this will sound unlikely to a gender that can't last 24 hours without a foot-rub or a bath but it's true. We won't start off gently patting you with our feet in the hope that you'll put your hands on them, then, when you don't, give up and actually boot you in the kidneys. We don't need you to touch our man-feet and we certainly don't want you touching our slippers.
A man's slippers are his coddling blanket. His one single piece of comforting joy in the mixed up stress-filled world in which we husbands inhabit. If you had to live with you, trust me, you'd want something comfy on your feet!
Not just comfy.
They are something familiar, something friendly, and something that wraps around your feet and hugs them like a mother comforting her new-born child. Our slippers are family and we love them
There are few things we men fear more than new slippers. The step into the unknown of entrusting your feet into unproven mock-sheepskin can be an all too daunting experience for us. New slippers are unfamiliar and therefore that innocent childhood need for a mother's love is not satisfied. That moment is lost the second you put your cold feet into a pair of unbroken-in slippers.
Therefore we don't replace them. Ever. A small, unfortunate result of this is that after a couple of years they do start to become very slightly pungent. Life-forms, that are unknown to science and resilient to ‘over-the-counter' anti-fungus powders (trust me), are born and thrive inside them and the pollution from their existence is the occasional whiff of ming.
My advice is simply to secretly spray Febreze or some such odour-control spray into them while he is busy locking his shed, and then quickly bagsy the laying down end of the sofa before he gets back. After all, what's upsetting you the most isn't the smell from those faithful, sexy old slippers; it's just that you know you were in such a hurry to soften your feet up for a rub that you went straight upstairs for a bath without first spending half an hour claiming your space on the sofa. Maybe, had you thought it through a little more, you wouldn't be sitting there with a face full of musky fungus. Instead you'd be laid out in stench free luxury while your own lady-feet playfully tap him about his face until he either starts bleeding or gets the message and starts rubbing-whichever comes first.