That Lingering Disgust “It’s over, there’s not going to be any wedding!” cried Marina. “Wait, what happened?” Illya stammered. “Everything seemed fine!” “Fine?” Marina smirked. “Well… fine. Except,” she paused for a few feverish seconds, trying to work out how to explain it… then blurted out the simple truth, “your socks stink! I’m not ready to live with that smell for the rest of my life!” “Is that honestly what you told him?” Marina’s mother gasped when her daughter announced she was withdrawing the marriage application. “Unbelievable!” “Why not?” shrugged the would-be bride. “It’s the truth. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.” “Of course I noticed,” mum said, embarrassed, “but… that’s humiliating. I thought you loved him. He’s a good lad, after all. And socks—well, that’s fixable.” “How?” Marina shot back. “Teach him to wash his feet? Change his socks? Use deodorant? Listen to yourself, mum! I was supposed to be getting married—to hide behind a man, not adopt an overgrown boy!” “Then why did you get involved with him? Why submit the application?” “That was all you, mum! ‘Illy is such a kind, lovely boy. I really like him’—your words! And let’s not forget: ‘You’re twenty-seven. It’s time you got married and gave me grandchildren.’ Why are you silent now? Is that not so?” “But, Marin, I never thought you were still unsure. I thought it was serious between you two,” her mum replied, “and, you know, I’m glad I was right about you: you thought it over and made your choice. Just, darling, the stinky socks thing… it’s a bit much. Doesn’t sound like you at all.” “I did it on purpose, mum. So it was clear. In a way that would make sure there’s no going back…” *** At first, Illya struck Marina as funny and a little awkward. Always in the same jeans and t-shirt. He didn’t show off about Picasso, but could go on for hours about old films. In those moments, his eyes would positively sparkle. He was easy to be with. Peaceful. And that peacefulness attracted Marina, tired of dramatic relationships and the hunt for ‘the one’. After two months of cinema trips and coffee dates, Illya shyly suggested, “Maybe come back to mine? I’ll make you homemade dumplings—made them myself!” The invitation was so warm, so homely it made Marina’s heart leap. And that ‘I made them myself’—it floored her. She agreed… *** Marina didn’t like Illya’s flat. No grime, but chaos, lack of taste, and a strange sense of neglect. Grey paint peeling off, an ancient sofa with just one shabby cushion. Stacks on the floor—boxes, books, old magazines. Trainers in the centre. Plus, stale air thick with dust and must. The room felt like a transit lounge waiting for someone to finally move out—but nobody did. “What do you think of my castle?” Illya spread his arms, smiling without a hint of embarrassment. He was proud! Genuinely blind to anything odd. Marina forced a smile. She liked the guy—no need for fights. Onwards to the kitchen. Not much better: a dust-filmed table, sink full of dirty dishes and limescaled mugs, battered saucepan on the hob. Her eyes caught the kettle. “Wonder what colour that used to be?” Marina mused. Her mood soured. She half-listened to Illya’s stories, his attempts to make her laugh. But when he handed her the dumplings, she refused, blamed the diet… She had no intention of putting anything prepared in that kitchen in her mouth. Later at home, Marina analysed the visit. At first glance, Illya’s place was nothing major. A guy living alone, what’s the big deal? But beneath that untidiness there was something else, something huge and abstract—how can someone live this way? Not laziness, but… for him, this was normal! There was, well… that lingering disgust. *** Then Illya visited Marina, officially proposed, gave her a ring. They filed for the notice. Her parents started prepping for the wedding. To be a bride—lovely. Yet, whenever Marina was alone, thinking of Illya’s ceaseless efforts to please her, his dumpling-making and joke-cracking, the image of the inexplicably coloured kettle surfaced. And Marina realised: that kettle wasn’t just a kettle. It was a clue. A clue to Illya’s attitude to life, to the home, to himself—and probably to her. One time, Marina imagined their morning together and was horrified. She’d wake, come into the kitchen, find cold tea and bread crumbs. When she’d say, “Darling, please tidy up,” he’d stare in surprise, just as he did at his own flat, not understanding. He wouldn’t argue, wouldn’t yell. He just… wouldn’t get it. Every day she’d have to explain, clean up, remind him. Her love would slowly die from a thousand tiny stabs he’d never even see. And mum was thrilled her daughter was getting married. *** Getting married… All the warmth Marina once felt with Illya seeped away, replaced by a nagging sense of dread. “Marina,” Illya would ask anxiously, peering into her eyes each day. “We’re okay, aren’t we? We love each other?” “Of course,” she’d reply, aware something inside her was breaking. Eventually, she confided in her friend. “So what?” Katya was baffled. “A bit of dust, a kettle? My husband would leave a tank in the kitchen if he could and never even notice. Men don’t see that stuff!” “Exactly! They don’t see,” Marina whispered. “And he never will. But I will! Every day! It’ll kill me, slowly but surely!” *** No, Marina didn’t blame him. He hadn’t deceived her. He was nothing but sincere. He simply lived in another world—a world where a dirty plate was normal. For her, it signaled misunderstanding and indifference. It wasn’t about hygiene. It was about seeing the world differently. The crack in her mind would only grow into a chasm. Better to end things now than to find herself at the bottom of that pit in a few years’ time. She just had to wait for the moment… *** Illya and Marina were invited to a house party. They arrived, took off shoes in the hallway… Walked in… The unpleasant smell trailed right behind. Marina didn’t immediately realise where the stink was coming from—but when she saw that everyone else realised too, she wanted the ground to swallow her. Without a word, she dashed to the hall, threw her coat on, and left. Illya chased her. Caught up, grabbed her hand. She whirled and threw it at his face, almost hatefully: “That’s it! There’s not going to be a wedding!” *** And there wasn’t. Marina thinks she did the right thing—and has no regrets. As for Illya… He still doesn’t get it: what was the problem, really? Stinky socks, so what? He could have just taken them off…

An Unpleasant Aftertaste

Its over! Theres not going to be any wedding! Sarah exclaimed.

Wait, whats happened? Tom stammered, surprised. Everything seemed fine!

Fine? Sarah scoffed. Sure, if you mean just fine. But She stopped for a moment, searching for words, then decided to be brutally honest. Your socks smell! Im not ready to breathe that in for the rest of my life!

Did you really say that? Sarahs mum gasped when told about the withdrawal of the wedding application. Unbelievable!

Why not? Its true. Sarah shrugged. Dont pretend you didnt notice.

Of course I noticed, her mum admitted, embarrassed. Butits just humiliating. I thought you loved him. Hes a decent lad. Smelly socks is a minor issue; that can be fixed.

How? Teach him to wash his feet? Change his socks? Use deodorant? Mum! Listen to yourself! I wanted a husband to rely on, not to adopt an overgrown boy and train him.

So why did you go so far with Tom? Why did you even register the wedding?

That was all you, Mum! Toms such a good, kind lad. I really like himyour words, werent they? And another one: Youre twenty-seven, about time you got married and gave me some grandchildren. Why are you quiet now?

Well, Sarah, I really thought youd made up your mind. It seemed serious between you two, her mum replied. And you know, Im proud you didnt rush into it. You thought carefully and made a choice. But darling, his socks stink is a bit much. Not like you at all.

Thats exactly why I said it, Mum. So hed get it. Plain and simple. No way back

***

At first, Tom seemed funny and a bit awkward to Sarah. He wore jeans and the same faded t-shirt all the time. He didnt ramble on about Picasso, but he could talk for hours about classic British films. His eyes would light up as he told the stories.

Sarah felt relaxed and at peace with him.

It was this calm that drew her in, worn out from dramatic relationships and chasing the one.

After two months of wandering through cinemas and coffee shops, Tom, shyly, suggested:

Fancy coming back to mine? Ill make shepherds pie. Cooked it myself!

The offer, so homely and warm, made Sarahs heart skip. The Cooked it myself! finished her off.

She agreed

***

But Toms flat left Sarah unimpressed.

It wasnt dirty, but the place had no warmthjust chaos and neglect. Bare, grey walls, an old worn-out sofa with just one cushion. Boxes, books, and magazines piled everywhere. A pair of trainers bang in the middle of the floor. And an air heavy with dust and mustiness.

It felt more like a temporary stop than a real home.

So, what do you think of my castle? Tom spread his arms, grinning with pride, genuinely oblivious to anything odd.

Sarah forced a smile; she did like him and didnt want to start a fight.

They went to the kitchen, which was no improvement: a thin layer of dust on the table, dirty plates in the sink, mugs stained dark brown. On the hob sat a battered saucepan. Sarahs eyes caught the kettle.

I wonder, she thought, what colour was that originally?

Her mood soured.

She barely listened to Tom, who kept trying to make her laugh, rambling along. But when he handed over a plate of shepherds pie, she firmly refused, blaming it on her diet.

Eating anything cooked in that kitchen was not an option.

Back home, Sarah mulled over her visit.

At face value, everything shed seen in Toms flat was trivial. So he lived alone and couldnt keep up with houseworkso what?

But the mess signalled something bigger: how could someone live like this? Not because he was too lazy to clean a plate, but becauseto himit was perfectly fine!

That unpleasant aftertaste remained

***

Then Tom visited Sarah, officially proposed, even gave her a ring. They filled in the forms. Their families started planning the wedding.

It felt nice to be the bride. Still, whenever Sarah was alone, thinking about Tomalways trying to please her, making shepherds pie, telling jokesthe image that popped into her mind was the mystery-coloured kettle.

And she realised: it wasnt just a kettle. It was evidencea sign of Toms approach to life, to home, to himself, and probably to her.

One morning Sarah imagined their future together and shuddered.

Shed wake up, come to the kitchen, and find half-drunk tea and a mess of crumbs. And when shed say, Love, could you tidy this? hed look confused, just like hed looked at his flat, completely baffled. He wouldnt argue, or shout. He simply wouldnt understand. Every day shed need to explain, tidy, remind. And her love would slowly drain awaya thousand tiny jabs, invisible to him.

And her mum was thrilled that she was getting married.

***

Married

The ease and warmth shed felt with Tom started to vanish, replaced by a thick, creeping anxiety.

Sarah, are we alright? Tom would ask almost daily, searching her eyes anxiously. We love each other, dont we?

Of course, shed reply, feeling something crack inside.

Finally, Sarah spoke to her friend Lucy, spilling all her fears.

So what? Lucy was baffled. A bit of dust, an old kettle My husband could leave a tank in the kitchen and not see it. Men just dont notice these things!

Thats just it! They dont, whispered Sarah. And hell never see. But I do! All my life! Itll slowly destroy me!

***

No, she didnt blame him. He never tricked her. Tom was genuine. He simply lived in a different worlda world where a dirty plate in the sink was normal. But to her, it signalled total misunderstanding and indifference.

It wasnt even about cleanliness; it was about how they saw the world. The split in her mind was growing into an unbridgeable chasm.

Best call it off now, she thought, before she fell right to the bottom in a few yearswhen itd be too late.

She just waited for the right moment

***

Sarah and Tom were invited to a party.

They arrived, took off their coats and shoes

Walked into the living room

A horrible smell followed them like a shadow.

Sarah didnt realise where it came from at first.

But when she didand saw that everyone else realised tooshe burned with embarrassment and wished she could disappear. Without a word, she fled to the hallway, threw on her coat, and left.

Tom ran after her, caught her arm. She turned to him and said, almost with resentment:

Thats it! Were not getting married!

***

There was no wedding.

Sarahs sure she did the right thing and has no regrets.

And Tom he still doesnt understand what the big issue was. Smelly socks? He could have just taken them off.

Some things, Sarah learnt, might seem small to others but are impossible to ignore once youve seen them. When it comes to love, sharing values and understanding is as important as sharing affectionotherwise, what starts as comfort can become a lifetime of quiet unhappiness.