FAVORITE FORK [I want to tell you about my favorite fork.]
Normally I like to keep personal matters really close to the vest â€“ especially on this here forum where there could potentially be upwards of lots and lots of people to dissect every nuance of every word that is posted, Well chickens (which â€“ believe me â€“ is said in the most complementary of ways â€“ go to W.C. Fields and his whole â€œMy little Chick-a-deesâ€ as your jumping off point â€“ I sure did . . .) today is going to be a slight change as I am going to have to expose my true feelings and (verbally) run down the street with my emotions pinned right there on my sleeve for everyone to see.
Today, I laid my burrito on itâ€™s plate and reached into the bag (from whence it came). And there it was . . . seriously â€“ I had no idea what joy was really in store for me â€“ and then I grabbed the best utensil ever. It wasnâ€™t just some dumb plastic fork that you would throw away the first chance that you got. No â€“ it was special.
Iâ€™ll be honest â€“ I didnâ€™t even notice the abnormality that made this fork slightly different from (really) any other fork that I had forked with in the past â€“ and I probably wouldnâ€™t have â€“ right up until I tried to use the fork. It was utterly useless! But useless in a kind of way that a tray of doughnuts would be if they were sitting on a table in front of someone desperately trying to start a diet would be . . . Which (I think) means that I (obviously) had to try to use that fork â€“ and probably also â€“ you also know that those doughnuts are going to get eaten and eaten and eaten some more . . .
How was it â€œuselessâ€ you are asking?! Well although it was fashioned (probably by one of those traditional â€œfork mastersâ€ from over in the deep dark forests of Europa) using the best in clear sturdy plastics (none of that dinky bendy plastic around my way if you please) . . . At some point in the design process â€“ someone decided that it would be best if this particular fork had itâ€™s most â€œforkyâ€ parts neutered down to nubs. The tines were large and rounded in such a way that I wasnâ€™t even able to stab into a (mushy) pinto bean. It was almost like trying to use a hotdog as a fork (except for the whole â€œclear plasticâ€ thing, the handle part and also the fact that a hot dog isnâ€™t really that much like a fork at all) . . .
Instead of continuing the farce â€“ which would have only succeeded in pushing the fork further into spiral of depression â€“ that it may never have recovered from. I decided to clean the fork off, befriend it and save it for an occasion where itâ€™s â€œforkyâ€ heritage would really (really) be able to shine (brightly) through the fog of itâ€™s unsure past.
Oh â€“ and by the way â€“ the doughnuts were super-scrumptious . . . and the diet will just have to start tomorrow . . .