It is a curious thing, and something you are unlikely to experience outside of a same sex relationship - although it does happen, presumably with more embarassing results - when you put on trousers for work and are halfway down the stairs when you realise that they are three inches too short and they don't button right. Have they shrunk? Have you grown? Are you about to Hulk out? No, in your confusion you've put on your partner's clothes instead. Other Half and I have a very similar body type so we constantly have exchanges like this:
Other Half: (watching me struggle into a pair of jeans that end, very unflatteringly, just above my ankle) I think you'll find those are mine.
Me: No, they're definitely mine. They must have shrunk in the wash. Vertical shrinkage! I hear it's happening a lot nowadays.
Other Half: Or -and just consider this for a moment - they're mine.
Me: No, I definitely had a pair that had this kind of green lining on the side.
Other Half: You do. But these are mine.
Me: (hopping awkwardly) They are not! They are quite clearly, obviously....oh for fuck's sake!
Other Half simply looks at me in silence as I flail about wildly to keep my balance.
Me: (in defeat, struggling out of the jeans) Huh. I guess they ARE yours.
Other Half: Told you.
Me: I don't know how you can tell, jeans all look the same anyway. What's wrong with you, woman? Are you some kind of hobbit?
Other Half: (reproachfully) We had this exact same conversation yesterday. And you know I have a long torso and short legs.
Me: Whatever. Frodo.
Obviously the confusion is a downside. But there are benefits - you double your wardrobe with a same sex relationship, providing of course that you like the same style. Other Half and I are relatively lucky in this respect, because we have quite similar tastes. This unfoortunately can backfire horribly, when one person brings home a lovely new jumper or tshirt and the other person's beady little eyes light up in fashion-stealing glory. Before I go any further I would like to point out, for your own safety, that 'hobbit' should be added to the list of Things You Should Never Call Your Other Half (At Least Not Twice And/Or If She's In The Same Room), which is a very long list and contains such beautiful terms of endearments as 'bunnykins', 'snuffleface' and anything soppy that any person in love has ever uttered to their beloved. Other Half will permit 'pudding', 'muffin' and most dessert-based nicknames, which leads me, in my endearing and quirky way, to try to create the most ridiculous concoctions ever.
Me: Okay, okay...um... Cakefeatures?
Other Half: I think not.
Me: My little apple cinammon tart...er...
Other Half: (squinting at me suspiciously) Tart or tarlet?
Me: (thinking fast) ...Tartlet?
Other Half: Are those the little tasty ones?
Me: (shifty eyes) Yes?
Other Half: ...'Kay.
I'm going to finish by saying that I just received a response from Other Half, to a wonderfully geeky email I sent her earlier, which states simply "Don't hashtag me, bitch!"
She really does say the most sentimental things. I must go and fetch my handkerchief.