My kitchen.

I love my kitchen because it's s strangely balanced place that meets my boyfriend's needs and my own.

Charles had lived in the apartment for 11 years before I moved in 2 years ago.

He was so very brave in allowing me to actually share the rent with him.  He was very, um, territorial at the time - but I was here constantly anyway.

I rearranged things to make more counter space.

I made asparagus with hollandaise and cried because I had my own real kitchen for the first time since I'd left my marriage about 6 years earlier.  I mean, I'd had the use of kitchens, but they weren't mine, and I hadn't been inspired to make hollandaise in them.  Back in cooking school, which had been more like Marine boot camp than anything else, I'd been the undisputed Queen of Hollandaise. 

And now, in OUR kitchen, I've reclaimed my title.

Charles wants nothing to do with it, which is fine.  He prefers melted butter.