a well-matched pair

My dear husband recently bought some cheese that, although it tasted okay, stank of stinky feet. Shortly thereafter, he decided to quit eating cheese for some indefinite period of time.

Tonight he is running a game which takes place in a small town in upstate New York, so he brought home a sixpack of Coors Light for his gamer friends, to set the mood.

I got home from work ravenously hungry, but since it wasn't sundown yet (and hence still Passover), I was reluctant to snack on Cheez-Its as I normally would. Snack is stinky cheese on matzah.

The gamers begin to arrive, make appropriately disgusted noises about the Coors, and sit around the table, waiting for everyone to arrive. I'm reading my email in the office. My love comes in to give me a kiss.

Me: Are you drinking that stuff too?
Him: Yes. It's not beer, it's fart-water.
Me: Oh, well, that's okay. I've been eating stinky-feet cheese.
Him: We're a matched pair, aren't we?