He's Still Here

We've all been there. When the twinkle dust of a new relationship settles, the Disney birds flutter away and we're left with the cold, hard fact that our partner, like us, is merely mortal.

Mine is not the toilet-seat-leaving-up kind, but he does have certain habits that make me grit my teeth (witness pie crust edged tongue from over-clenching - ew) and make me mutter to myself because no one on Twitter should have to read such cussing.

Case in point: every day when I shower, I have to first push down the shower head holder so the spray doesn't hit the back wall of the shower and find its way as gentle sprinkles on the toilet paper. That's because of HIM. And every day, he moves it back up. (You'd think we were dealing with a giant here.)

I have more, and they seem petty, so I'll get to my real point. For all of my griping, mostly inward, there is this perspective: These habits are proof that he's still with me. Not in a relationship kind of way, but on this earth.

I would take shower head re-positioning, unfolded towels on rods, coffee table moved within couch reach, spandex bike wear and all the sports channels in the world (okay now I'm listing them) over the alternative: not having him here with me.

He works the night shift but if he happens to catch me in bed in the morning, he always touches the small of my back. I wait for it, half awake, every time. And there it is. Just as comforting is the daily adjustment of the shower head.

He's still here.