Fork you

While putting up the dishes it occurred to me that the Olympics are not the only event to happen every 4 years, at least not in my house.

I am now down to just two forks. Why? How? It's a phenomenon I call The Great Fork Migration. Back when my son was younger the Great Spoon Migration happened pretty frequently. I'd go out into the yard, look into the sandbox and find half a dozen spoons, beaten, battered, almost unrecognizable.

Now it's the forks. I know exactly what will happen if I go out and buy replacement forks. About 4 nano-seconds after I unpack the new forks I'll start to find the old. It's an indepth mindgame my flatware plays with me; I'm sure of it. I'll start to see a fork poking out from under the sofa, I'll find 3 in the butter knife compartment. They will be laying there smugly. Almost as if they are saying.. ha ha.. we were laying on our sides, Fooled ya!

The two forks I have now are not even a matched set. They are clearly the retard forks, the ones that couldn't find a good hiding place. Or maybe they're the lazy ones. I don't know. All I know is that my flatware doesn't wear out. It just.. goes away.

One day in the coming months, I'll be putting away dishes and find that I own, roughly, eleventy hundred forks. They'll have all come out of hiding a migrated back into the sink during the night.. or maybe it's some form of reproduction. Maybe there is a fork orgy going on right now under my sofa, or behind the crockpot. I can almost imagine them there, a big wad of forks all the tines intertwined, looking like a bizarre man made octopus.

My house is one of many mysteries. Some I've solved, some I haven't. The forks are having their day.