Day in the Life of a Fork
Dinner. The bane of my existence, ironically, my main purpose in life. The noise of endless chatter at the table. The pink hollow darkness of use. The slime of thick water-like liquid. The red sauces, cheesy goos, crumbly breads, scrapping against Pansy, Peter, Polly, Paxtin, Patrick, Penny, Piper and all my friends, clanging against Gracie, George, Gwen, Grant and all the rest of them, my frienemies. Dinner is torture, laborious, patient-trying, work. The sauces, the meats with things that ooze out of them, goos and slimes. Blah.
“Lasagna, tonight!” Bellowed the monster. Oh no! Not again. Not the cottage cheese layer or the crimson colored goo layer (called tomato sauce I think) or the flimsy layers that the Younglings call noodles and think will keep this mess together (they don’t).
“Finnley, come here we need to practice your exercises.” My mom, Faith, called me over. Forks don’t just sit around in a drawer all day no oh no! We exercise: lifting each other, trying to carry Salta or Pepperone around, we lift: lemons, garlic, limes, apples, leftover pizza crust and more, and we do so many things all day. No one gives enough credit.
“Lime lifts, spoon swings, then handle dodging practice ok?”
“Yes, Coach Mom.” I managed to respond, all the while thinking please don’t be on dinner duty, please. After lime lifts, spoon monkey bars and dodging practice, Organizer Knox called us all to order.
“On dinner duty tonight are the following:, Festy, Filletna, Felix, Finn, Fabian, Faith, Finnley, and Farah” Knox continued but I didn’t care, I was on lasagna duty tonight. Worse still they might keep me out for dessert! Knox finished and we all lined up in order in our drawers, we were going home for a bit before our evening torture. We’re slaves.
“Go set the table, Harley!” Bellowed the high pitched monster. This girl grabbed us banging and clanging us together. Please be near mom, please be near mom. I begged mentally but of course this girl didn’t care, she banged my head into Farah’s foot and banged my mom into Knicky, mean Knicky. The glasses were set down with grace as usual and my plate friends followed.
“Mommy, Mommy! I got a big girl fork?” The small monster called.
“Yes!” The high pitched one replied, much to my displeasure. I hoped with all my might that it wouldn’t be me. I got lucky, Filletna, my sister did not. Being grabbed and waved around by the tiny one who played with her food and stabbed aggressively causing migraines when she didn’t get her way was cruel usual punishment. I was placed with Harley, the moody monster, if she was in a good mood that was great if not get ready to be stabbed into plates and chucked at the floor. Slow eating of the moody monster was the worst part and I was grateful when dinner was over.
“Bath time,” The used forks followed their usual schedule, now it’s time to relax before the next torture.
