I’ve been asking the wrong questions
I’ve recently started seeing someone new. It’s going well. We’ve had great conversations. We’ve talked about values, about what we want from life, about the big important stuff that relationship experts tell you to cover early.
And then, somewhere between our third and fourth date, a terrifying realisation hit me.
I haven’t asked the really important questions.
A genuine moment of dating panic.
I was at her place and we were making tea together for the first time. As she was filling up the kettle, I was suddenly paralysed by questions that felt, in that moment, more urgent than anything we’d discussed about our childhoods, our ambitions, or our attachment styles.
Does she fill the kettle to the top, or just boil what she needs? (I’m a just-what-you-need person. The idea of boiling a full kettle for one or two cups makes me irrationally tense.)
Does she warm the cup first? (She’d better.)
Does she — and I barely dared look — pour not-quite-boiled water onto a teabag? (There are limits to what can be forgiven in a relationship!.)
To help, I opened the fridge to get milk and there it was: the butter. Gouged. Cratered. Like someone had taken a spoon to it in the dark. Not a clean scrape in sight. Not a smooth, tidy surface but a lunar landscape recently hit by a meteor shower!
Reader, I am still seeing her. But I now have questions.
Why the small stuff actually matters
I know what you’re thinking: “It’s just butter.” And you’re right — it is just butter. But here’s what Gottman’s research tells us about the small stuff:
69% of relationship conflicts are perpetual problems — issues that never get fully resolved because they stem from fundamental differences in personality or lifestyle. And the vast majority of those perpetual problems aren’t about the big things. They’re about the dishes. The thermostat. The correct way to load a dishwasher. Whether “tidy” means the same thing to both of you.
These aren’t deal-breakers in isolation. But they’re the things you’ll negotiate every single day. And research shows that how you handle these micro-negotiations — with humour and flexibility, or with contempt and rigidity — predicts relationship satisfaction far more reliably than whether you agree on politics.
So yes, the butter situation matters. Not because of the butter itself. But because of what it reveals about how two people share a space, respect each other’s preferences, and navigate the beautiful, maddening reality of domestic coexistence.
The Definitive Compatibility Questionnaire
To be administered on or around the third date, with mock solemnity and genuine curiosity.
The Bathroom Questions
1. Toilet paper: over or under?
This is the foundational question of all domestic compatibility assessments. There is a correct answer (over — the original 1891 patent drawing by Seth Wheeler confirms this), but the real test is how strongly they hold their position. Someone who doesn’t care at all may lack attention to detail. Someone who’d end a relationship over it may lack perspective. The sweet spot is a mild preference held with good humour.
2. The toilet seat question (the FULL version).
This one needs unpacking, because most people get it wrong.
“Seat down” is not the answer. “Seat down” leaves the lid up, which is: (a) aesthetically displeasing, (b) unhygienic (every flush sends an aerosol plume of microparticles into the air — this is called the “toilet plume effect” and it’s real science, not a myth), and (c) a half-measure that pleases nobody fully.
The correct answer is lid down, always, everyone, every time. This means everyone has to lift something before they use it, and everyone has to lower something after. Perfect equality. Plus your toothbrush doesn’t get showered with toilet plume. Everyone wins.
If your date says “doesn’t matter,” they’re either lying or they’ve never shared a bathroom. Either way: follow-up questions required.
Mind you, if we think toilet seats are a source of tension, what about skidmarks? Actually — maybe you’ll need to know each other a little better before broaching that topic. Some conversations are best reserved for the second year of cohabitation.
3. Towels: folded, hung, or floor?
There are people in this world who use a towel once and put it on the floor. These people exist. They walk among us. Some of them are otherwise lovely. Some of them are your future spouse. You need to know this before you sign a lease together.
4. Toothpaste: squeeze from the top, bottom, middle, or roll?
A diagnostic dressed up as a question. Bottom-squeezers are methodical — they believe in doing things properly even when it’s slightly more effort. Top-squeezers are pragmatic — they trust future-them to sort it out later, and future-them never does. Middle-squeezers are chaos agents who cannot be reasoned with. Rollers are either deeply organised or the children of deeply organised parents and have simply never questioned the inheritance. Pair a bottom-squeezer with a middle-squeezer and you have a domestic crime scene by the end of week one.
5. Toothpaste spit: rinse it away, or leave it?
The question nobody asks on a third date, and they should. Some people turn the tap on, give the sink a quick swish, and leave it spotless. Others leave a small foamy monument to their dental hygiene for whoever uses the basin next. If you’re a rinser sharing a sink with a leaver, every morning starts with a tiny domestic archaeology exercise. If you’re a leaver sharing a sink with a rinser, you’ll never understand why they’re so tense before work.
The Kitchen Questions
6. Kettle: full to the top, or just what you need?
This question reveals more than you’d think. The “fill it to the top” people are optimists — prepared for anyone who might want a cuppa, generous with their energy consumption, often the same people who leave lights on in empty rooms. The “just what I need” people are efficiency-oriented, environmentally conscious, and possibly a tiny bit controlling about resource management.
Neither is wrong. But if one of you is silently fuming every time the other boils a full kettle for a single cup of tea, that’s 365 tiny resentments a year.
7. Do you warm the teapot/cup first?
This is a character test. People who warm the vessel first understand that details matter, that patience improves outcomes, and that some things are worth doing properly even when nobody’s watching. People who don’t are… getting on with their lives, I suppose. But the tea is better when the still boiling water is poured into something pre-warmed!
8. Water temperature for tea: freshly boiled or “hot enough”?
Black tea requires water at a full rolling boil. Green tea requires water at about 80°C. Herbal tea is more forgiving. If your date pours lukewarm water from a kettle that boiled twenty minutes ago onto an English Breakfast teabag, this is not a person who respects the craft.
I’m being deliberately ridiculous. But also: I’m not.
9. The butter: dig or scrape?
Scraping maintains a smooth, civilised surface that respects the next person. Digging creates a lunar landscape of craters and ridges that says “I was here and I don’t care who comes after me.” This is a metaphor for something, but I’ll let you work out what. A quick note though, if they’re diggers and they contaminate the butter with toast crumbs and the remnants of any spreads, then just run for the hills. It’s just not worth it…!
10. Washing up: as you go, or after the meal?
“As you go” people are process-oriented. They can’t enjoy the meal knowing there’s chaos behind them. “After the meal” people are outcome-oriented. They prioritise the experience and deal with consequences later. Neither approach is wrong, but if you pair one of each, someone is going to be twitching through dinner. Leaving it until the next morning? Students or cockroach feeders!
The Bedroom Questions
11. Bed making: every morning, or what’s the point?
Research (yes, actual research — a survey by the National Sleep Foundation) found that people who make their beds are 19% more likely to report getting a good night’s sleep. Whether that’s causation or correlation is debatable, but bed-makers are a distinct personality type: they like starting the day with a small win. Non-bed-makers have decided the win isn’t worth the 90 seconds. Both positions are defensible. Discuss.
12. Sleeping: window open or closed?
This is non-negotiable for many people and the source of genuine nightly conflict. The open-window camp cites fresh air, better sleep quality, and a primal need to not feel sealed in a box. The closed-window camp cites temperature control, noise, insects, and the reasonable desire not to wake up freezing at 3am.
13. What’s the correct room temperature?
The thermostat wars have ended more relationships than infidelity. (I don’t have data for this claim, but I believe it emotionally.) There is a person in every relationship who is “always cold” and a person who is “boiling.” They found each other, because the universe has a sense of humour.
The Bed Wars
14. Doona: shared or separate?
The Scandinavians solved this decades ago. Two single doonas on a double bed. No hogging. No midnight tug-of-war. No waking up at 3am wrapped in a sheet while your partner has constructed a cocoon fortress beside you. The fact that the rest of the world hasn’t adopted this system is proof that humanity learns slowly.
If your date says “we can share” with confidence, they are either (a) a non-hogger, which is rare and precious, or (b) a hogger who doesn’t know they’re a hogger, which is all of them.
15. Bed territory: which side, and how much of it?
Everyone has a side. The side is non-negotiable. If you both want the same side, one of you will sacrifice — and silently resent it for the duration of the relationship. Establish this early. Preferably before furniture is purchased.
Then there’s the space question. Some people sleep in a neat, contained rectangle. Others sleep like a starfish having a dream about skydiving. Some people migrate. They start on their side and, over the course of the night, gradually annex your territory until you’re balanced on three inches of mattress edge like a mountaineer on a ledge, while they enjoy the remaining 90% of the bed in blissful unconsciousness.
16. The heat-seeking missile.
Every couple contains one person who radiates heat like a furnace and one person who is, apparently, made of ice. The ice person will, without fail, find the furnace person in the night — regardless of starting position, doona barriers, or the size of the bed. You could start the night at opposite ends of a super-king and by 2am they’ll be pressed against you like a heat-seeking missile that’s found its target.
This cannot be trained out. It cannot be negotiated. It is a force of nature. Your only option is acceptance — or separate doonas. (See question 14.)
17. Snoring: deal-breaker or white noise?
Some people can sleep through a chainsaw. Some people are woken by a moth coughing in the next room. If you’re in the second category and your partner is in the first category but also snores, you need to have this conversation before someone ends up permanently relocated to the spare room.
The real question isn’t “do you snore?” (because snorers never know they snore). It’s “has anyone ever told you that you snore?” And if the answer is “my last three partners, my university roommate, and a hostel full of backpackers in Thailand” — you’ve got data.
A confession about research methodology.
I spent years insisting I didn’t snore. My evidence was rock-solid: I would often wake up in the middle of the night, lie there in silence, confirm that no snoring was occurring, and go back to sleep. A hundred percent non-snoring findings. Irrefutable. And if any sounds were heard in the night, it was obviously the dog!
Then someone suggested I try a sleep recording app. You know — the kind that activates when it detects sound.
Turns out my research methodology had a fatal flaw: Strange snoringesque sounds were recorded when I was the only one asleep in the room. I don’t believe in ghosts so it does seem to be strongly suggesting that my previous methodology was less than “sound”.
If your date says “I don’t snore” with absolute confidence, buy them a sleep app. The results will be educational for everyone.
The Living Together Questions
18. Shoes: off at the door or worn inside?
Cultural, practical, and surprisingly emotional. For some people, asking guests to remove shoes feels inhospitable. For others, wearing outdoor shoes on indoor floors is an act of domestic violence against the carpet.
19. Dishwasher loading: is there a correct way?
Yes. There is. And it’s my way. (This is what every person who loads a dishwasher believes, which is exactly why this question has ended more family dinners than controversial politics.)
20. Leftover pizza: cold from the fridge or reheated?
This question has been studied more than it deserves. Cold pizza people are spontaneous, low-maintenance, and possibly a little chaotic. Reheated pizza people have standards, patience, and access to a functioning oven. There is no wrong answer, but there is judgement.
21. The cutlery drawer: organised or chaos drawer?
Some people have a cutlery drawer where every fork, knife, and spoon has its designated slot. Some people have a drawer that’s essentially a metallic Lucky Dip. The first type can’t understand how the second type functions. The second type can’t understand why the first type cares.
The real point (there is one, I promise)
Here’s what all of these silly questions have in common: they’re impossible to get angry about.
And that’s the point. These questions create a safe, low-stakes space to practise something that’s actually really important in relationships: negotiating differences with humour instead of hostility.
Every couple has differences. Every shared household involves compromise. The couples who last aren’t the ones who agree on everything — they’re the ones who can laugh about the things they’ll never agree on.
The toilet paper debate isn’t about toilet paper. It’s about whether two people can hold different preferences, acknowledge them openly, and find a way to coexist without anyone feeling diminished.
If you can navigate the butter conversation with curiosity and good humour, you can probably navigate the harder conversations too.
Try it on your next date
We’ve built a Domestic Compatibility Quiz — you and your date answer the questions independently, then reveal and compare. It generates a “compatibility score” that’s completely meaningless and entirely entertaining.
Or just bring up the toilet paper question over dinner. It’s the best conversation starter nobody’s using.
This article is part of “The Practical Playbook” series — actionable, research-backed guides for real dating situations. Though in this case, the research is mostly about toilet plume aerosols.