~*~ Fork ~*~

let me tell you about the fork. it's been around for centuries and it's still here, still doing its thing, still not getting the credit it deserves while spoons and knives hog all the spotlight. the fork is the unsung hero of dinnerware. it's out there every night, spearing peas with the precision of a sniper who really, truly cares about your nutritional intake. and i respect that.

i love the tines. four of them, evenly spaced, each one a tiny cylinder of pure intention. they're not sharp — they're not aggressive like the steak knife i'm emotionally attached to — but they're firm. they hold ground. when a pea tries to escape, the fork says "not today" and gently impales it with the quiet authority of someone who has seen things. the fork has seen things.

one time i dropped my fork and it landed handle-down perfectly. i stared at it for a full minute and felt a connection so deep i think we telepathically bonded. from that day forward, our dinners have been transcendent. my pasta has never been more al dente. my vegetables have never been more spear-able. the fork knows what it wants and it wants me to eat well.

i've considered naming it. but naming a fork feels too intimate, too final, like committing to a relationship where you've only had one dinner together. the fork understands this. the fork is patient. the fork will wait. it knows i'll come back for more rice bowl dinners and we'll grow old together, slowly accumulating dishwasher scratches like couples accumulate inside jokes. ૮(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ა