Whiskers in the Sink

For years I have prided myself on keeping a tidy house, making sure all dishes are drying on the rack before bed, not leaving for work with clutter strewn about, and never letting the laundry hamper overflow.  I've been used to a schedule of refrigerator cleaning on Monday, dusting on Tuesday, sweeping on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and so on.  In addition to the cleanliness, I've spent a number of years priding myself on the concept of "my space is my space and no one else's...except maybe Indy's...on a really good day".

 
I've been trepidatious for this month to come around for awhile -- dreading the reminders from Novembers past, worrying about slip-ups in my eating and workout glory, turning 35 without achieving "x" goals or "y" accomplishments, and replacing human contact with that of Pine-Sol, Swiffer, Lysol, and Mr. Clean himself.  So this morning when I began my usual routine of stumbling out of bed and into the bathroom through a bleary-eyed haze, I was momentarily taken aback at the whiskers in the sink.

The guy I've been seeing, no... the man who has completely captured my heart stayed the night in Astoria last night so he could be picked up more easily to head out to his annual college reunion for the weekend.  His pick-up time scheduled for much earlier than my eyes deign to open (6am), he clearly showered and shaved in a too-early rush leaving behind a few traces in my sink.  Without knowing, he brought to the forefront of my mind NOT stressful memories of 2012 trying to get back to NYC in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, NOT chilly autumn evenings spent ordering takeout and watching "La Vie En Rose," NOT frustrations of being told I need to put my running sneakers in the back of my closet.  No, this morning's vestiges brought back a conversation I had with my best friend in November 2006 when I broke out on my own and began making a life for myself.  I distinctly remember saying, "being alone will mean no more whiskers in the sink."  At the time that was my half-joke/half-realization way of saying my bathroom will be clean because no one else will be there.  But over the years, it's something I've actually missed.  It's a sign that I'm not doing this alone.

I've dated guys (Lord have mercy have I dated more than my fair share...), and none had the interest, the comfort, or certainly the familiarity to shave in my bathroom.  And now not only did this perfect complement complete a basic grooming ritual, but he did it with ease, while I slept in the next room.  Most importantly... I let him.  I happily let him.

French memoirist Francois de La Rochefoucauld (say that 10 times...) said, "The greatest of all gifts is the power to estimate things at their true worth."  Pretty sure I got an incredible but unexpected gift this morning in the form of those little whiskers.  This month is gonna be pretty great.

Francois de La Rochefoucauld -- super hot mustachioed wig wearer

*Note A: Today (November 1st) is Author's Day.  Maybe it's a sign I should dabble again in my love of writing.  Yeah, I think it is...

**Note B:  Below is a picture of me and my Andrew.  For those of you not connected to me on Facebook, pretty sure it's time to show him off.  I think he's gonna be around for awhile.