Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, the rules for being my flatmate are quite simple: 1. Coffee in the morning comes before everything and everyone else. 2. Accept it as a fact that I don't have too many shoes. 3. Only put the bottle of alcohol back in the fridge if it still has a visible amount left in it. Otherwise just empty it and get me a new one.

Dear future hubster,  when you finally decide to show up, and I convince myself to settle down for a while (don't even ask me to settle down forever, that's way too unnerving, let's just start with a few years at the time), and we can finally have a fully equipped kitchen, please be prepared to have plates that insult you and your guests, weird Danish pinboards and unicorn-shaped cushions, and potentially mugs that promote Trudeau 2020. I come with an eclectic style, yes. 

Dear future hubster, Shari showed me an advent calendar of socks . Now considering my widely known soft spot for cool socks (and great hair), it goes without saying that I totally want to get you one.  Minor issue is that I don't know your shoe (sock) size, and I'd prefer to avoid a one-size-doesn't-always-fit-all fiasco. Therefore, you are hereby kindly requested to identify yourself, or at least the size of your feet. Preferably in European measurements, but I understand weird American sizes too, if necessary.