I’ve been living with five spoons in my cutlery drawer for four years.  They’re the first utensil I run out of and their impact on my life has been quietly profound.  Never really thought about it until this morning.  I plan my meals based on how many clean spoons I have available.  Sometimes when I forget to check my spoon status, I’m forced to eat traditional meals in bold new ways.  It’s become a lifestyle choice.

The spoons don’t really match either.  One has a very solid feel to it.  Doesn’t bend at it’s thinnest point.  I save that spoon for days when I plan to scoop ice cream.  It’s my very favourite spoon.  Another spoon is so malleable, spaghetti noodles look forward to bitch slapping it around.  I feel sorry for that spoon and do what I can to protect it from self esteem issues.

The other spoons are just as mismatched, but that’s also part of their charm.  It’s like they’re a rag tag cast of characters from a Joss Whedon TV series.  Maybe all they have in the whole world is each other, and despite their personality conflicts, or psychological disorders, or relationship issues, they somehow come together to complete the mission, or slay the vampires, or scoop the ice cream.  They scoop the ice cream against all odds, and they’re stronger for it.

Who wants to fuck with that kind of chemistry?  I could buy new spoons or raid my mother’s cutlery drawer and she wouldn’t even notice.  I’d have so many spoons, I wouldn’t even have to map my week out any more.  No more, ‘This is a hamburger day because I’m out of spoons,’ moments.

Still, I feel change coming.  When I green light my next project, I will treat myself to a shopping spree at one of those kitchen type stores.  I need mixing bowls, and trinkets, and dish rags, and those flat things you put on your stove to rest your cooking utensils because you’ve used them to stir something and now they’re dirty and resting them anywhere else won’t work because those places are only for resting other things that are for clean things, things.  And maybe… If I’m already buying all those other things, I should buy spoons too.

You can’t have sparkling new kitchen stuff and not have a proper set of spoons.  Right?  I don’t know.  I’m flying by the seat of my pants here.  There’s no proper spoon manual to consult in spoon situations such as this.  There’s no spoon precedent that I can recall through history that will make my decision easier.  How did Napoleon deal with his spoons when it came time to scoop Neapolitan ice cream?  Historians consider these things unimportant.

I clearly need more time to think about this whole issue.  Perhaps musing about it over the next 23 or 24 blog articles will give me some clarity.

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