Oh jagged gelato spoon, how I hate you. At first, you seemed so harmless, just a plastic utensil fabricated for my favourite Italian dessert. But as I’ve learned, looks can be deceiving.
I placed that wicked spoon, stacked with gelato, into my eager mouth. But as I slid it out, my upper lip got a sudden wake-up call. Could it be? Surely, I must be imagining it. Nobody would design a plastic spoon with edges so sharp.
I took another bite. The spoon bit back. My lemon vanilla dessert now had a swirl of red flowing through it: blood red. I should’ve stopped right there. But the gelato was just too good. I attempted to improvise. I turned the spoon upside down. This only achieved one thing: a laceration of my bottom lip. Hm, this must be how people become masochists.
Pleasure, then pain. Pleasure, then pain. What have I done to deserve such torture? Have I angered the frozen-food god? I’ve only indulged in the finest premium ice creams. My freezer is always full. Wait a minute, I did recently purchase a pint of non-dairy frozen dessert. It was made with almonds, but it tasted like cow piss. I eventually threw it out. This is about the frozen cow piss thing, isn’t it? I learned my lesson, I swear. There must be some way I can make it up to you. I could drive a Good Humour truck for a month. Or maybe build you a shrine out of used popsicle sticks. Just give me a sign!
The automatic ice maker just released another load into my freezer. Is that a sign? What does that mean? Am I forgiven? Or have I angered you? Is this your idea of some kind of a sick joke, making me fear one of life’s few pleasures?
And so I sit here, confused, running my tongue over the wounds in my mouth, knowing there’s only one thing that can soothe my shredded flesh. Yeah, you guessed it, more gelato.
You would be the type of rat to keep going back to the Decon box, wouldn’t you? I overlooked clearing the house of sharp objects (like plastic spoons) in my list back there a bit. Please accept my apologies.
But the taste of fresh blood . . . mmm.
I’ve actually learned to crave the sweet torture of the gelato spoon. Each cut makes me feel more alive.
Who am I to talk. I’ve started making and wearing corsets (getting into the Victorian thing). Nothin’ like the feel of real steel at your waist. Wonder if they’ll ever make M. Stewart wear manacles? How would she restyle them for Kmart?
I still wouldn’t keep slicing myself for a food that ISN”T EVEN CHOCOLATE.
You made my day… Funny!
bloody spoons, eh
i don’t know why people have to mess with gods cutleratical mastery. he gave us spoons, we make them sharp. he forgave us, and we made a spork. why, oh why.
mancott cutlery foolery
The spork? You think this was just some kind of spoon/knife invention? Nah, they couldn’t create something like that. I mean, what would they call it? A spife? A knoon? There’s no ring to it. Wait a minute. . . knipoon. Hell yeah! I can see it now:
“Excuse me, waiter, could I please have a knipoon?”
“Look, Sandy just cut her tongue off with a knipoon!”
Oh, this is gold, baby! Pure gold. I’m calling the patent office right now!
i like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane–
or something.
hope you didn’t need stitches or anything. ;)
From the Owl and the Pussycat
“…They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon. ”
“The probable definition of the runcible spoon is a small fork with three prongs, one having a sharp edge, and curved like a spoon. This spoon is used to eat pickles, etc.”
Didn’t you always want to know?
Actually, that’s pretty fascinating, Edith. Then again, my idea of entertainment is watching the Food Network all weekend.
Add A Comment