The Fork

So we have this fork at home...it's kind of old, been through the ringer. It's bent out of shape, the tines all messed up and not even. The bend of the fork is a bit off too. All in all, it's a sad-looking fork. Must've gotten caught in the mechanisms in the dishwasher. But we still have it. It has a name. We call it the fucked-up fork.

We try to avoid using it when we eat. It's usually always the last fork in the drawer. There it is, sitting in the utensil drawer, all by itself. Pathetic.

Every once in awhile, we'll try to trick each other and give the other the fork. We try to be subtle about it so the other doesn't notice. We'll stick it in the plate under the food, so you have to eat with it to figure out it's THE fork. Then we turn and yell at the other, "UH, you gave me the fucked-up fork, what the hell?! NICE!" And so it goes, back and forth.

The other night, I made dinner, but I forgot to hide the fork. I placed it on the table in front of Thom. I didn't think he'd notice because he was on the laptop. I brought in dinner and then left the room to get drinks. I sit down to eat, happy that he's got THE fork and I waited for his reaction...

Meanwhile, he's looking at me with this "I ate the canary" grin and I'm wondering why the hell he's looking at me like that. I took a mouthful of food.

"UH! You gave ME the fucked-up fork, what the hell?!?! I had given it to you and you SWITCHED them when I was out of the room! UH!"

My friend Sue says "Hi!" to all of you out there in cyberspace!