Dinner Time!

The Knife

The guests would soon arrive. It was my favorite part of the evening. For Dinner was the time of day when all the utensils - forks, knives, spoons, chopsticks, everything and anything - would find out if they be used that day. Thinking about laying next to the plate tonight made me feel as though I were conducting electricity. I could practically feel the wickedly fast little electrons zooming through me from my teeth to my handle. I was buzzing all over. Earlier in the evening I thought he'd heard the chefs say they'd be eating veal. That means they'd definitely be needing a knife. But would I be picked? What if the waiter reached into the drawer and grabbed another knife? How many knives were laying on top of me right now? Three? Four?

When I felt the drawer rolling on its wheels, I thought I might have fainted, I was so nervous. Thank Fridge! I was picked today. I could hardly wait to snuggle up on the right side of the plate, knowing that the fork was cozily laying on the left side, and the dessert spoon over the plate. I found my place on the right side of the plate - a little further away from the plate than usual, but that didn't bother me (the waiter must be new) - and readied for the feast to begin.

What I was not expecting was for one of the forks to be set right next to me. Seeing the fork laying there, all long and elegant, elicited a strange reaction in me. I'd seen this particular fork once or twice, but I'd never been this close up before. Of course I'm used to working with forks - who eats with a knife and no fork, after all? But this fork was just so...forky. The base of the fork's handle was beautifully rounded - but not so wide as to make her uncomfortable to hold. It got slightly wider for about a centimeter, before thinning out again until it reached the fork's head. And oh boy, what a head that was. The fork dipped down to the table so that her neck was almost a full centimeter off the table's surface. And the prongs! Where they were connected at the bottom it was wide and sturdy, but they once again thinned out and came together at the top.

Looking at the fork made me feel so hot, I was worried if someone picked me up they'd think I had been cooked in one of the ovens before! This might have been the sexiest fork I'd every laid his eyes upon. Once again I experienced something I never thought I'd experience: fear. All of a sudden I was worried that I'd fail somehow. Maybe I wouldn't be able to cut through the meat, and the diner would resort to simply using the fork to stuff the veal in his mouth. Or I'd become so hot that the diner would simply refuse to use me, and I'd be replaced with another. The dinner I had just been waiting for impatiently all of a sudden couldn't be sooner.

I was dimly aware that the dessert spoon was where I'd expected.