Sally stood amazed at the sight before her.
He was methodical in all his movements as he went from the dinner table to the dishwasher, where he packed the racks impeccably to ensure optimal flow of the water inside the dishwasher.
With every trip he made between the table and the washer, he always had something in his hands to optimize his time in the best possible way. On his way back from the dishwasher, he would pack a load of clean dishes in their proper places in the kitchen cupboard, walk to the table and grab a load of dishes to put in the dishwasher again.
He was never empty-handed in any trip between the table and the washer; he was never looking anything but in complete control of his mission. He would grab items that go in the same cupboard, or the same rack in the dishwasher, all at the same time, so that he walks only once, and does not have do high and low movements in a single trip.
Yes, his whole methodology of cleaning the kitchen after the large family lunch spoke of experience. Self-control. Precision. Almost a sort of marksmanship.
But that was not what Sally was amazed about. Sally was amazed due to the rarity of this occurrence... he was a man. A WORKING man. A working man IN THE KITCHEN!
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