Kent Freeman whistled while he worked. The simple tasks of dusting and mopping took up less than half of his attention, and he focused the remainder of his brain on perfecting the drumbeat in his newest composition.
He picked up a stray fork from behind the couch and absentmindedly tucked it into a back pocket. The pair of unmatched socks that he also found back there became puppets on each hand, singing along to the rhythm of the song in his head. All at once, the entire song snapped into focus for Kent, and he stripped the socks from his hands and dropped them on the couch.
He dashed to his office and played the parts that he had recorded so far. Yes. Perfect. A quick edit here, a little tweak there, and Kent’s newest masterpiece was ready to send out for rejection.
Kent leaned back in his comfy chair, prefatory to laced his fingers behind his head in satisfaction, and the fork he had forgotten in his pocket stabbed him just to the left of his spine. He straightened with a howl, wondering if by some mischance he had laid a jigsaw blade in his seat. His hands reached behind himself to comfort the hurt place with complete disregard for their own safety, and he grasped the fork in sudden confusion.
When he pulled the bent fork from behind him, he laughed in spite of the harm that he’d done to his favorite leather chair. The lesson was learned that day: no forks entered Kent’s back pocket for at least the next two weeks.
Today’s Daily Prompt:
What’s the one item in your kitchen you can’t possibly cook without? A spice, your grandma’s measuring cup, instant ramen — what’s your magic ingredient, and why?
The stove? Is that an okay answer? I know, I know, all that it’s your blog it’s your space you do you nonsense.
But–no. The issue I have with this prompt is that I cook so many, many different things. Not everything needs a spoon, or butter, or lemon juice, or chocolate chips, or even salt.
Some weeks a bowl is essential.
Some days I need foil.
At all times I need comestibles, but that’s a given.
Maybe I should just pick salad fork. I don’t reach for whisks, normally. I don’t mix with a dinner fork. Just now, when I needed a tablespoon of butter, I retrieved a salad fork from the silverware drawer.
Yes. A salad fork. I’ve always been partial to them. They’re so diminutive and cute. And useful, to boot.
I used to eat everything with a salad fork. Except cheese. That’s knife and fingers.