Aren’t they pretty?
What a variety of elegant, shiny shapes that are hugging each other in this chest of drawers. Silver Mohawks are poking out at the end but are softened by their rounded counterparts, and despite their radically different looks, they probably wouldn’t want it any other way. Only the knives seem a little lonely. Maybe they have a reputation for cutting through bonds so all the spoons and forks stay away from them. They don’t want to jeopardise their relationships, of course. I’m sure knives are just misunderstood, though.
I wonder what they would talk about if they could. Would they exchange examples of what they’ve cut, dipped or stabbed through, judge the dental hygiene of their users, and mock their pretentious and deeply inauthentic conversations? Would the spoons gossip about Sara’s embarrassment and guilt after she dips them deeply into a jar of Nutella? Have the knives witnessed any murders and would the forks be the pretentious arseholes, talking about their versatility and how they basically make knives a futile invention? I wonder if they would get along anyway.
Would they feel valued? Would they feel treasured by their owners who’ve passed them on to generations after them? Or are they just as much a part of our disposable world like their owners? In less poetic words, are they from IKEA? Would they feel like they’re being taken care of and appreciated? Bathed in hot water and soap to sustain their shine and longevity? Perhaps some chosen ones get tired of being that little kid’s favourite spoon, who only eats food that looks predigested. Would the other spoons make fun of him, or give him positive affirmations and show solidarity before and after the act? After all, there’s a lot worse things that a spoon could be used for. Some spoons would know.
Do some of them feel rustic and old? Could cutlery be ageist and consequently arrogant about their own youth, and discriminative towards the old timers? Could they feel ready to die? Perhaps they would want to continue fulfilling their purpose of helping others fill their tummies in a convenient, civilised way, and maybe others feel like they should’ve always been part of a more extraordinary invention. What if some of them are stuck in the wrong category, doomed to feel unfulfilled until and beyond their expiry date? Perhaps some of them consider themselves culinary connoisseurs and weep a little every time someone’s about to dip them into a can of chicken soup or beans. Maybe they don’t even care at all, and just see themselves as silver soldiers, willing to cut and slurp and shovel through anything their owners want them to.
Whatever it is, I hope that none of them wish they were chopsticks instead. Because if they can in fact think and talk, I hope they know they’re so much better than that.
Photo by Good Soul Shop on Unsplash