This may be too much information, but I must fill you in anyway. This weekend, while conserving some shower water, Kevin shaved my nipple! So it's not like I'm a hairy person - I'm no more of a "close relative" to King Kong than the next homosapian, but occasionally I get a stray hair or two on my nipples. So we're standing in the shower, going about normal shower routine, when he reaches over with his razor - right after shaving himself mind you - and swipes my nipple.

"Stop it," I demanded as he continued. "I'm serious," I screamed, "don't touch my body."

And he continued as if to completely dismiss my concerns. "Pfff, your body, ha," his expression said. He smiled big.

And you know it's not even the shaving that bothered me, though I still believe in the old wives tale - more will come back. No that didn't bother me. I would have plucked them anyway, but what truly bothered me is the pattern we've already started to set with each other.

Is this what happens when you move in with someone? Shower make-out sessions are quickly replaced with a swipe of the razor? Morning kisses are withheld because of bad breathe. Discussions become less about politics and hopes and dreams and more about paying the bills and whether or not the dog pooped on her walk.

As he went about his morning routine - scratching and farting and dressing (give or take the order) I thought I might be a bit upset. But what did I have to be upset about? Was I bothered that he took it upon himself to remove me of stray hairs? Not really. Were things already becoming boring and routine? - honestly, not at at all. I couldn't possibly be bothered by his comfort level with me could I? I don't think so. I couldn't put my finger on it. And I still can't.

The fact of the matter is, whether we're talking about who's going to make dinner or making each other laugh with old stories, we make a good team. I've just got to get used to the fact that he's uped his "team-player" role with the addition of shaving my nipple hairs or popping a butt-zit. This whole "team mate" thing might not seem very romantic, but I have to trust in the fact that along with it comes many other exciting things. My favorite is when he gestures to receive my arm while we're walking on the street as if neither of us could cross without the other.

That morning he went to take Marley for a walk and returned with a cup of coffee for us to share. He hasn't forgotten about the little things, and honestly I don't think he ever will. So as long as I don't have stubble on my nipples next week, I think I'll be okay with this newfound comfort level.