"Silver" Woes

I have a favorite spoon. There - I've said it. I don't know why it's my favorite, or why I would even have a favorite piece of silverware, but I do. There's nothing spectacular about this spoon. To the average person, it would look like any nondescript, ordinary teaspoon, but it's certainly not! My parents got the set when they got married, I believe, circa 1977. Much like my parents marriage, most of the other pieces of the set have been lost or broken (including the one fork my mom still has in her drawer with bent tines but for some reason, she won't get rid of it). The brand engraved on the back is Servita, and it also says "Nasco Stainless" and "Japan." The bowl of the spoon is shaped just right - like it was made for my mouth. The handle is long and thin, with intricate raised flowers and vines on it. The end of the handle has an almost indecipherable little scoop to it that fits my thumb perfectly. My mom and husband know about my love for this spoon, although they approach it in different ways. My mom tries to understand it and replicate it - she has bought me a few other spoons that she think might do if this one becomes lost or mangled in the garbage disposal (AGH!!!), but there is no comparison. My husband just rolls his eyes and takes the next spoon from the stack in the silverware drawer, even if mine is on top, because he has suffered my wrath one too many times for using "my spoon." I, myself, even pass it up, at times, if I need a spoon for something quick or careless, like an on-the-go snack of a scoop of frosting from the tub. I like to save my spoon for something special, something that I can sit down and enjoy and relish in the fact that I'm using my spoon. I've even been known to take it out of the dirty dishwasher and wash it by hand so that I can use it for just such an occasion... I dread the day when my spoon and I have to part ways, but for now, I take comfort in knowing that it's always by my side.

Forks, now, are another matter. I do not have a favorite fork, but I definitely do have some majorly unfavorite forks. I've never understood why some forks would only have three tines. This is most distressing to me and in fact, when I find myself in a restaurant or friend's house with such flatware, I have to work very hard not to vomit and/or run in fear. Just like my inability to articulate what it is about my spoon that I love so much, I am also equally unable to specify why three-tined forks are so revolting, but they are. I have tried to live quietly with my distaste, but in some settings, I just can't help myself. I have traded forks with friends at a restaurant before, should they have been lucky enough to get a normal one and me the societal outcast. Most of my friends don't seem to have a problem eating with three-tiners, so they willfully trade with me, albeit after a few minutes of teasing. It's worth it - though. I think I would sell my soul if that would prevent me from having to eat with a three-tined fork. (Oh, no - I've just realized what Hell is like - no favorite spoons and three-tined forks. And no shoes. Eeek!) My one friend even gave me a lumpy, sealed, business sized envelope with the words "Purse Fork" written on it. She told me to simply carry it in my purse wherever I go and not to open it unless it's an emergency. I assume finding myself somewhere with a three-tined fork and no one to trade with would be considered as such. I'm so thankful I have friends like her to look out for me!

Well, off to bury my favorite spoon in the stack of the underachievers so my husband or kids don't mistakenly (and rather inconsiderately) take it for themselves in a moment of haste. No - I'm not kidding - I do this everytime I put it away. One never can be too careful with the things they love.