It’s small. Really small. Scarcely 4′ by 3′ of free floor space, actually.

Since our kitchen is so tiny, John and I have to do some mighty intricate weaving around each other when we’re working (peeling, chopping, washing, wiping, cooking) in there at the same time. This is how the broom closet room looks, minus us:

It’s a miracle we’ve learned how to avoid collisions in it, especially since both he and I were partner-less and thus alone in our respective kitchens for a long time before he moved in with me last September.

We duck, we feint, we slide past, we cross over, all in order to share a teensy space with maximum efficiency. It’s almost artistic, in a way – as if we’re dancing a minuet together.

Yes, we must share other small spaces too; for instance, a couple of closets, the bathroom and a file cabinet. It’s not exactly a slam-dunk combining two separate households, as many of you probably know.

And yes, we’ve tussled (mildly) over differences and quirks. Examples: I hate the sound of the radio – actually any sound other than grunts! – in the early mornings while I’m still waking up. He likes to hear the news, and can’t always find his earbuds. He likes to take two-hour baths. I’m done in 20 minutes or less! I like ketchup; he hates it. He likes mustard – strong mustard. I – well, don’t.

Speaking of mornings, why is it that when we wake up, most of the sheets and blankets are on his side of the bed? I’m lying there, lucky to have a top sheet barely (pardon!) covering half of me.

But we laugh together – a lot. We share the same worldview. We hold hands when just watching TV or walking or on the bus. And we feel tremendously lucky to have this second chance at a happy relationship later in life.

This is what happens when you live with someone in the Key of Love.