The BF had gone upstairs to put FOH in his bed. I immediately started organizing and cleaning things in the kitchen.

I don’t know what it is about the kitchen … maybe that it’s a food preparation area? Or maybe just me and my cleanliness obsession, but the kitchen {for me} must always be clean.

The rest of the house can be a disaster, but the kitchen has got to be in order.

It’s a metaphor.

The BF, as I was mid coffee cup rinse, came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. I was annoyed at first. Obviously I was in the middle of something, couldn’t he see that?

I tried to brush him off without it appearing too jerky or insensitive. He persisted. The next thing I knew we were slow dancing in the kitchen.

The loud ceiling fan above us our music.

I thought about how steady he is in my life, in the same self assured way he was spinning and dipping me around.

How he has this great gift of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary, reminding me that the important moments and memories come in this form … of dancing.