An Unfortunate Date
“Think there’s anything behind these things?”
“What? No. Really?” Lila snatches the chopsticks, wrapper and all, from between my fingers. “What’s it say? Oooh, ‘It is happiness to know one is superior to the fork people.’ Please. Monkeys probably typed this.”
It’s not nice of her to laugh so loudly.
She pokes the chopsticks through their prophetic paper wrapping and plunges them into her rice. It’s disgusting how food falls from those sticks as she raises them to her gaping mouth.
“Neither forks nor chopsticks are where it’s at, you know.” Smiling, I slide my spork from my coat pocket.
In a strange twist of events, after I’d come up with this idea, I found a handful of sporks on my dining room table, left over from the take-out to which my husband treated the kids in my absence last night. It’s a sporkspiracy…
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