I have been burning the midnight oil the last few nights and needed to get something in the proverbial can early, so tonight I was aiming for something that didn’t necessarily need a lot of acts.

There’s one room in my little apartment that I keep cleaner than any other – the kitchen. It’s less about fastidiousness and more about efficiency. In an effort to save money a few years ago, I decided to make dinner at home at least six days a week. I am not a natural cook like some of my friends, so any friction in the process early on would drive me crazy – I couldn’t find the colander (half the pasta ended up down the drain); the measuring spoons were MIA (salmon so over-salted I just decided it came out of the Dead Sea); missing can opener (I nearly lost a finger attacking the can with a knife). You get the idea…

So, where I’m not above leaving a blouse on the back of a chair, or even using the clean laundry basket as my makeshift dresser, the kitchen is the place where everything gets cleaned and put away in its proper place. No exceptions!

Okay, some exceptions…

Shannon called out and I had to work a double shift and didn’t get home until nine, and I still had to be at work the next morning at seven – but I still cooked! Okay, to be fair, it was a quick one-pot skillet meal from Trader Joe’s, but that’s kind of cooking! And I did clean the pot… I just didn’t wash my plate. I figured I’d do it in the morning as I made coffee.

Except the next morning the plate wasn’t in the sink.

Instead it was propped in the dish drainer; my fork sat in the silverware section of the drainer.

“Huh…” I said aloud and then hurriedly made coffee and a bowl of cereal (and rinsed and put away the bowl) before hurrying out of my apartment to catch the train.

Shannon was out again, so it was another double.

I decided it called for breakfast for dinner, so I made scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

And, yes, I was so tired I just left it all in the sink.

But the next morning, the sink was empty. But so was the dish drainer. I stared at the empty dish drainer for a solid ten seconds. I checked the cabinet – my plate was washed and placed in the cabinet. I checked my pans – the skillet had been cleaned and hung from its hook on the pot rack – the exact right hook.

A chill went down my back.

“Umm…,” I started, “Th-thank you?” I looked around the quiet kitchen, not expecting an answer… okay praying I wouldn’t get an answer! My eyes caught the time on the microwave and I swore and hurried out the door.

They fired Shannon. Guess who worked a third double shift in a row?

I got home angry-tired. I cooked the two chicken breasts in the fridge, boiled some broccoli, and even mashed a couple of potatoes. Yes, I made a mess, but making a full meal after coming home exhausted felt like an act of rebellion. I took my proper meal to the couch and watched the news while I ate.

When I finished and returned to the kitchen, the pots and pans had been cleaned and hung up. I opened the fridge and there in a Tupperware was the remaining chicken breast and veggies. I stepped back from the fridge and just stared as I let the fridge door close. I didn’t even know I was crying until I felt my tears on my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I said, my exhausted voice cracking as the words came out. “Thank you so much…”

I sniffled and moved to the sink, reaching for the dish soap for my plate – and I stopped. I set the dirty dish in the sink.

“I really appreciate it…” I said, then backed out of the kitchen and went to bed.