Dear former roommate: fork off!

I had to chuckle reading today's QotD.

It asks what's the best and worst thing about having roommates.

I ain't gonna poke at that hornet's nest with a 15-foot metal skewer.

It's the question's timing that's funny. Because every day for weeks now when I open my silverware drawer, I'm reminded: "Oh yes, I must blog on that."

Then I wind up writing about something else.

I thought it again – "oh yes, I must blog on that" — just last week when I'd stopped for a fast-food emergency burger.

Emergency because, as usual, I hadn't eaten all day. And wasn't gonna be home anytime soon. That's about the only time I eat fast food, in a blood-sugar save.

Back to the day's question and what I've been meaning to blog about.

Every time I see a plastic fork — in my silverware drawer, at a fast-food joint — I think of my former roommate, the Nazi Queen.

How could this be?

I shall tell you.

Her boyfriend, a good guy, also lived at the house. Occasionally I'd see him in the kitchen on my way to work.

It should be noted that to satisfy the neurotic and dangerous Nazi Queen, I spent no time in the kitchen in the morning (or night, another posting), apart from quietly retrieving my lunch from the fridge. She was usually sleeping when I left to work. Their bedroom was on ground level, down the hall from the kitchen.

We had it arranged such that I had my coffee pot upstairs. Kept my half-and-half in a thermos set against the window pane to keep it cool through the night.

So this one morning I step into the kitchen and see Dan standing there stirring his coffee with a white plastic fork.

This very fork I'd spotted many times over … on the counter … in the sink … in the dish strainer. I'd been curious why the fork and why only one.

"Why are you stirring your coffee with a plastic fork?" I ask.

"Because the sound of the metal spoon against the cup bothers C. It wakes her up."

Remember, their bedroom's down the hall and behind a closed door.

Dan was an early riser and liked watching TV news in the living room, two rooms over from their bedroom. Poor guy had to keep the volume so low, he'd probably mastered lip-reading.

She's the reason I don't answer todays QofD. There aren't words powerful enough or graphic enough.

I do think of the Nazi Queen every time I see a plastic fork though.

And now so will you.

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