No two kitchens are alike because no two cooks are alike in the way they want their kitchen organized. Sharing that sacred space with someone else can cause simmering tensions to boil over. First Born and The Groom are about to find that out.

The Love Couple has been house-sitting while The Groom’s parents have been living in Costa Rica for Dad’s job. That’s all about to change, as Mom will be coming back home, at least for now. Sharing the main part of the house is barely an issue because the kids and their cats have been residing in the finished basement, which is set up like an apartment minus the kitchen. The cooking is all done on the main floor, and I do not exaggerate when I tell you The Groom is an exceptional chef. It’s just a hobby, he says, as he posts a social media photo of his apple-potato latke with eggs, goat cheese and Sriracha-garlic aioli. Right, a hobby.

As you can imagine, he has arranged his kitchen supplies and spices just so. Thinking about someone coming in and rearranging everything to their liking is not on his list of favorite things. This whole scenario brings me back to a day long ago when I was caught completely off-guard by the conquest of my own kitchen.

We had just welcomed some visitors for the weekend — two good friends of mine from our old neighborhood in Connecticut. Two wonderful women who, when left to their own devices, could conjure up a hurricane of “good intentions” that would leave you reeling in the wake of their agenda. Two saintly women who would, by the way, chop your hands off if you touched their kitchens.

Because they arrived earlier than expected, Spouse greeted them while I was at the store picking up a few last-minute items. He suggested they get comfortable and relax until I returned. They didn’t. Instead, they raided my kitchen cabinets, tossed a few things they didn’t think I was using (to be fair, they may have hit the expiration date) and moved several items from one cabinet to another because they decided it just seemed more efficient that way. Efficient, you say? That wasn’t the word running through my mind as I relocated things back to where — you know — I could FIND them.

I know their intentions were good, but someone who cooks often will typically have the kitchen set up for the ease of their personal use. I want the items I use most to be where I can reach them. It’s my prerogative to keep the sea salt in a different place from the table salt. I also happen to like the balancing act of reaching for oregano and not knocking the basil off the shelf. The penalty for crossing the line and rearranging my spices comes second only to going anywhere near my fresh garlic.

It’s hard to share kitchen space, especially when you’ve choreographed it to your own cooking rhythm. First Born likes to cook sometimes, but she happened to marry a man who cooks like a pro, and he somehow does it without the use of an oven. For that I can overlook the fact that he poses his food for a photo shoot before he lets anyone eat it. He’s earned the right to show off his creations, as long as the proof is in the pudding — or rum-pineapple French toast with toasted coconut, berry-yogurt drizzle, and apple-berry compote — when we visit.

As for the kitchen compromising that will inevitably have to take place — it was Mom’s kitchen first, so she may decide to shift things back around to her comfort level. Personally, if I were her I’d let her son, The Groom, do all the cooking … in the name of sacrifice, of course.