The dishes wheel with friends

It was one of those evenings that just sort of drifted into the kitchen. The plates from dinner were stacked, and the conversation was still going, soft and easy. Someone just reached for the wheel we keep on the counter, the one with our names on it.

The quiet click of the spinner

They gave it a flick, and we all just watched it go. There was no big fanfare or tension, just the soft whirring sound it makes. We were still talking about something else entirely, half-paying attention to the spinning colors.I remember watching the pointer blur past my name, then someone else’s. It felt like a background thing, a little ritual that was just part of the night. The conversation didn’t stop for it.

When the wheel settles

Eventually, the spinning slowed to that familiar, wobbly rotation. We all went quiet for a second, not dramatically, but just naturally. It was like waiting for a leaf to finally land on the ground.It clicked to a stop on Jamie. There was a soft laugh, a nod. No complaints, no debate. It was just the way it landed. Jamie got up, already reaching for the sponge as the rest of us lingered, the talk picking up right where it left off.It’s never really about the chore itself. It’s about the lack of a discussion, the gentle randomness of it. That little moment of calm acceptance is what makes the whole thing feel fair, and strangely peaceful.