I testify, here and now, that I have not now, nor in recent memory, nor in faraway memory, lost, forgotten, or otherwise misplaced a single one of our spoons.
S., who cannot be here to testify today, swore on our recently discovered-beneath-the-bed copy of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, he has not now, nor in recent memory, nor in faraway memory, lost, forgotten, or otherwise misplaced a single one of our spoons.
And yet, in our silverware drawer, we have eight dinner forks, eight salad forks, eight knives and….two soup spoons and….three regular spoons.
To elaborate further, in 2004 we bought two full sets of beautiful-yet-dishwasher-safe silverware from the Junior League resale store in Pittsburgh, PA for a cost of fifty dollars, total, affording us, in addition to the various flatware we received for our wedding that was not dishwasher safe, and the flatware donated to us by S.’s parents, and my family silver, more than enough utensils with which to eat for the rest of our conceivable and unconceivable lives.
Note: Two full sets.
Also, note: The second set sat in a box until approximately midway through 2006 when we ran out of spoons entirely. And so, both S. and I vehemently declaring our innocence in the case of the missing spoons, I imparting logical blame on what is (obviously and frighteningly) a spoon-stealing ghost, and S. blaming (unfairly) me, we opened the second box of utensils. To date, we have not touched the second round of forks or knives but now find ourselves virtually spoonless, once again.
We hold our ground. I believe obviously our shifty, sneaky, oddly spoon obsessed ghost followed us from Pittsburgh to Michigan and is probably also responsible for socks that lose their partners, forgetting to program the coffee maker in the evening, and taping America’s Next Top Model marathons even though
nobody somebody ends up watching them. S. believes I lose spoons.
But I say this with certainty – while I may bring spoons with me to work, I always bring them home and put them in the dishwasher immedietely. The problem rests, not with me, but with the transference from dishwasher to silverware drawer.
No, S. maintains – “C., you just lose spoons. Could you please pay more attention? These were nice spoons!”
Outside negotiators, my brother D. and his wife, M., were called in. “Who is the yogurt eater, the oatmeal eater, the tea drinker,” my brother asks, as M. nods her agreement. “Yogurt and oatmeal eaters, and tea drinkers, they use a lot of spoons and are likely to lose them.” All heads turn towards me, as everyone knows I eat yogurt and oatmeal every day, and drink tea several times throughout the day. The logic from the Pittsburgh contigent of our family seems to be that obviously, I am the one losing the spoons.
“Also,” S. added, going in for the kill, like the lawyer he will so soon be, “She likes soup.”
The jury decided, and I have been convicted of losing well over a dozen spoons in five years. But the thing is, and I mean this truly – I really believe I bring EVERY SPOON HOME with me. I am careful. And I’ve never once discovered a rogue spoon in a desk drawer or underneath the car seat, and I’ve never thrown a spoon away. So despite all evidence to the contrary, I again declare my innocence. I have never lost, forgotten, or otherwise misplaced any of our spoons. I’ve been convicted on circumstantial evidence, and I expect to appeal.