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One of the most well-known scenes
from the Matrix is when Neo is told,
“There is no spoon.” We can while away an afternoon discussing what that
means, but the gist of it is: reality is not what it seems. A recent mind-bender
for me was opening my silverware drawer and seeing that indeed, there were no
spoons. Where the hell did all my spoons go?
I didn’t bother checking the dryer. Its only interested in my socks, and now not so much since I began safety pinning them together. This has drastically reduced the mysterious dryer-related disappearances.
Here’s the deal: I live in a
two-family house with – oh my god – my family, and so when sharing a meal it’s not
uncommon for plates, pots, pans, and yes, silverware to circulate freely
between kitchens. So my spoons weren’t missing. They had just temporarily
relocated. When I paid a visit to my Parents’ silverware drawer I hit the
mother lode of spoonage. They had so
many spoons I don’t even know how they were able to close the drawer.
As I was liberating my spoons my
Dad wandered into the kitchen and said: “What are you doing?”
“Getting my spoons.”
“You’re taking our spoons?”
“No. I’m taking my spoons.”
“Oh. Well, just leave the soup
spoon.”
“You have plenty of soup spoons in
here. You don’t need mine.”
“No,” my Dad says. “We only have
one.”
He comes over, sees the serving
spoon in my hand and says, “Yeah. That’s it. Why are you taking our Soup
Spoon?” (And now I have to capitalize it because now The Spoon has become a
sentient being and a proper noun.)
“Okay,” I said, “First of all it’s
a Serving Spoon, not a Soup Spoon. Second of all it’s not yours. Third, you
have a drawer full of actual Soup Spoons.”
My Dad pouted – pouted – and said,
“But we like this one.”
And just like that I was sucked
inside the matrix of a conversation I never thought I’d have, saying things I
never thought I’d say, standing my ground on things that I knew didn’t matter
but it was too late. We were in it and I was going to see it through to the end
because I am my Parents’ daughter. The
fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree and the tree is roots-deep crazy.
I said: “Dad, this is not a Soup Spoon.
It’s a Serving Spoon. And it’s mine.”
“But we use it.”
“Too eat soup?”
“Yes.”
“But you can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a Serving Spoon!”
My Dad walked off muttering to
himself about Spoons, ungrateful adult children, and calling his lawyer to
amend the will.
I walked off muttering to myself about
Spoons, senior citizen Parents, and calling my therapist.
Now, I find sometimes when I get
caught up in these familial exchanges that I regress and do the things I used
to do when I was a kid. In this case, I went straight to my Mom – who, by the
way, was eating a bowl of soup, presumably with an actual but undesirable Soup
Spoon – and said:
“Ma! Are you ok with The Spoon
you’re using right now?”
She said, “Yes.” Which in
Mom-Speak means, “No” and my Dad looked at me as if to say, “See! I told you!”
And that’s how I found myself the
next day, during a snowstorm, shopping in Bed, Bath & Beyond for His &
Hers, Big Ass Soup-slash-Serving Spoons. I, of course, had also brought along
My Spoon in a Ziploc bag – because I didn’t want security to think I was
stealing – so I could measure it against The Spoons at the store to make sure I
was getting the right, wrong size.
I debated giving The Spoons to my Parents
for Christmas, which was not too far off. But now it pained me to think of my Parents
eating soup with inferior Spoons. Plus, when you’re Parents are old, waiting to
give them things doesn’t feel like a good idea. (“Gather ye rosebuds while ye
may.”) And I really just wanted to see the looks on their faces.
The first thing my Dad said to me
was, “How much did these cost?” I didn’t tell him but that didn’t stop him from
telling me how he could have gotten them cheaper. He can’t help himself. But before
he could launch into how ‘back in the day you could buy a complete set of silverware
for a quarter and get back change,’ I told him The Spoons were cheap and that I
had a 20% off coupon. That seemed to make him happy and get me back in the
will.
So now I got Spoons. My Parents
got Spoons. All gods’ children got Spoons. I also got an appointment with my
therapist because I have no idea how I’m going to handle the new reality of my
now missing Steak Knives.
The Urban Erma, the longest running column on StageTimeMagazine.com, was created and written by stand-up comedian Leighann Lord. Listen to the podcast on iTunes and Stitcher Radio. Get her e-books on AMAZON!
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