My apartment has many things in it. It has strategically hidden Terrible Towels, because Ari won’t let me hang them where everyone can admire their beauty.
It also has tons of silverware.
If you’re like us, you have mismatched silverware collected over time from various, unknown sources. Our silverware drawer is like an archaeological dig. I reach into it, pull out a spoon and declare, “Ah! What a fine spoon this is! An excellent find!”
Then I eat my Kix.
The one thing I don’t like though, is when I get a Little Fork.
You know, that fork that looks like it was made for a baby tyrannosaurus? Or maybe something not that cool – maybe just a very small man.
When I end up with the Little Fork, it’s like I’m being punished.
Me: [Noticing the Little Fork mocking me from the table] “Uh, isn’t there a bigger one?”
Ari: [Sitting down] “Well, maybe next time you’ll remember to take out the trash like I asked you.”
[I stare down at the Little Fork. It is laughing at me. It really is.]
Ari: [Enjoying her Regular Fork] “Now eat your peas, though you might only be able to eat them one at a time.”
[She enjoys saying this]
Why does the Little Fork even exist?
I’m not a child!
I need a fork that can pick up large chunks of somewhat enjoyable food and shovel it into my mouth at speeds that alarm those that eat with me!
From now on, when I’m faced with having to prepare for a meal, I am Indiana Jones.
I’m going in there – ruggedly handsome as always – grabbing the biggest, mightiest fork I can find and getting out of there.
I’m not sure if I’ll wear the hat, but I probably will.