Hey Diddle Diddle

Write a love story about the dish and the spoon from the classic nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” How did they meet and why did they decide to run away together? Will their relationship last?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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82 thoughts on “Hey Diddle Diddle

  1. SpiderVenom

    Waiting. I do it every day. I wait and wait until the humans pick me up and use me. It’s the same routine every day. First, I’m in the drawer and next I’m in the washer, or the sink if the day is special. It’s routine.

    Today the drawer opened, as usual. A human picked me up and brought me to the table. I expect them to place me down on the familiar plastic plate that makes a soft thump when I’m dropped on it.

    Clank! The plate rings as I land on it. Weird, I think Why am I not on my plastic plate? I look down to see myself on a white, porcelain dish. I’m about to say something to her but a human puts me aside and takes the dish away. She returns shortly but food is piled on her pristine face.

    An hour or two passes and the dish and I are put in the sink.

    “Excuse me, sir, but- do you know where we are?” The dish asks me.

    “We are in the sink to get washed.” I tell her. “Also, I didn’t catch your name.”

    “My name is Angelica the Dish, and you are?”

    “Harold the Spoon.”

    “Are we safe in the sink?”

    “Yes”

    “Then is it wrong for me to be scared?”

    “No. Are you- are you new around here?”

    “Yes.” Angelica comes closer to me, “I was just opened from my package a few hours ago.”

    We are silent for a few moments, then Angelica says something to me, “I don’t like this. Will it be over soon?”

    “Yes,” I reply, “And we’ll do this every day until the day we break.”

    “Then let’s leave.”

    “What?”

    “We could just leave and never have to deal with this again. Are you in?”

    “Yes”

    Night falls. Angelica and I are on the counter to dry. Tonight is the night we embark on our new adventure. We throw down a paper towel for Angelica to land on so she doesn’t break.

    “Ready?” She asks me.

    I look down at the wooden floor and say, “Yes. Let’s jump together.”

    We jump. I feel amazing for a few seconds until I realize Angelica slipped. I watch her come tumbling down to the floor only to see her shatter before my very eyes.

    I cry myself to sleep with the thought that I’m only a spoon that can’t love someone so different. Why does it have to be this way?

    I’m back in the drawer and I find a fork comforting me. We’re so similar- yet so different. I think we can make it work.

  2. pauly t

    It was a doomed romance from the start… one that could not last. He was from a rich family, a Silver Spoon among the daily common utensils. She was from the wrong side of the kitchen, and the worst thing was, she was plain old every day White China.

    The Sporks, parents of Silver Spoon, forbid him to date a girl made of plain old everyday China. They wanted him to fall in love with a high society brand of China, not some common store bought brand, but a special order kind of woman, some really fine china.

    Well, both Silver and White decided to elope. They planned to sneak out of the kitchen late on a moonless night. Finally the time came, Silver took Chinas hand in his and they leapt from the counter top. Silver landed on the floor pinging and clinging and clanging. But… poor China landed face down and shattered in a million pieces. Silvers heart, like his girlfriend, was broken.

  3. Pete

    “It’s gone.”

    “Huh?”

    “Gone. As in vanished. Disappeared.”

    “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

    Josie was tearing the place apart looking for that spoon. The one that wasn’t there. I wiped my hands on my pants, the room was hot with food. The oven had been on for hours because tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Just the thought of it made me nauseous.

    And now the spoon and the china. What were the chances? She’d never in her life used that spoon or that dish and now it was the most important thing in the world?

    “Well, they couldn’t have just run away together, right?”

    “The dish and the spoon,” I chuckled, only to catch a glare.

    “Gary, don’t. Not today.”

    She looked under the table. Then to the sink. Cabinet doors opening and slamming shut, as though applauding her effort. I sank in on the couch and turned on the television when a honk outside jolted my heart. Josie stopped the search. Froze. Looked at me like I was a demon. I waved her off and stepped out.

    “I told you I’d meet you up the street,” I said, eyeing over my shoulder. Dave, my dealer, laughed. Because he didn’t care. He could punch me in the face and I’d come crawling back to him, sniffling and crying. Begging.

    “You got it?” I whispered.

    “Yep,” he said, nodding towards his car. A girl danced in the passenger seat. Probably turned eighteen an hour ago. She probably had no idea she’d be dead in a year with this guy.

    Dave handed it to me. It felt…small.

    “What’s this?”

    “This is how much smack you get for fucking dishes man. Shit, a spoon?”

    “That spoon,” I started, catching myself, lowering my voice. “That spoon was like two hundred years old.”

    He shrugged. “So what. It was a pain in the ass to hock anyhow. And that dish you gave me? Yeah, fell on the floorboard and broke.”

    I could tell he enjoyed my horror. By the hideous, shit-eating grin on his face. He tossed his hands in the air, walking backwards. “So that’s what you get. Cash from here on out. Got it?”

    Then he was gone. I pocketed the baggie just as Josie opened the door and watched as Dave tore out of the driveway, slinging gravel on my grave as he sped up the street in his modified Honda.

    “What was that?”

    “He needed directions. Did you find it?”

    “No,” she said, her eyes wet and vengeful as they left the car and fell on me. When they did I saw a girl who’d run out of hope. A girl shoving off a raft because all it did was give her splinters. “I’m going to Mom’s house to cook. I’ll call you.”

    “I thought we were doing dinner here?”

    She shook her head. I saw her overnight bag at her feet and my mouth opened. To say words that I would never say. Instead I weighed the hurt of her leaving with the giddiness of her leaving. So that I could get the junk in my veins. Jose read me, the way my joy was for the bag and she was left with everything else. All the bad stuff. Her only fault was falling for me. When there was something to love. Now I was a carcass. A sleeping bag of skin that contained only an insatiable appetite to get high.

    She kissed me on the cheek.

    “Wait!”

    I never said it. Never said come back or sorry. I didn’t run to her or even blink. Part of me was counting the seconds until she was gone.

    I’d given Dave the antiques. Every single valuable we owned. I would have given him my blood, had he asked, just to get that needle in my arm. So I gave him “us.”

    I moved the stuffing and the gravy from the stove. Her kiss still wet and pressing on my jaw. I set the needle on the dish. Tapped the spoon three times. I tied up and did my business, and pretty soon the pictures on the wall were dancing. I was warm and supremely comfortable. The cow jumped over the moon. The cat and the fiddle.

    I sat back. Laughing. Wonderful.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      Your addiction description remends me of a movie I saw with Ray Milland in it, ‘The Lost Weekend.’ It’s been haunting me all these years and now I have another to deal with. Getting into the mind of your character, despite trying not to, was a real nightmare. I know it happens but you took me on quite a ride. If I didn’t know better ………………………..

  4. Reaper

    This has been a long and sucky week. Hope this isn’t too terrible. Part 35 and stuff.

    In the Beginning – Nursery Crimes

    The daughter looked into glassy eyes. They should scare her, she was old enough to know that now, but all she felt from them was an odd, comforting cold. They drew her in, pulling her towards another world. A better world.

    Maybe that was why she liked telling her stories to the body. They weren’t prophecies… yet. Not like grandpa’s stories, rest his soul. Mommy promised that, if she was very good, one day her tales would be like that. For now, she did the best she could.

    She liked to think she was making an impact on the body’s world.

    She held her very favorite book up, pointing at the pictures as she spoke. She was still young, but she was eloquent. Enough so that she knew what eloquent meant.

    “This is the dish. He is the first boy and he loved his sister. Loved his mommy and daddy too. So much that he ate some of the daddy when the daddy became food. He was not Jewish or he could not have eaten any of the daddy. The Prophecy doesn’t care about them or the Muslims though. Mostly he loved his sister though.

    “This is the spoon, she is the daughter. She loved the spoon too. Not as much when he cried, and not as much as she loved having the mommy and daddy to herself, but she loved him. It was okay though, because in the end they have to fight. If it were just boys that would never happen, because boys are not strong enough to follow the Prophecy.

    “No matter how much she loved him, the spoon knew she had to try and break the dish. Not right now, but when the time comes. She will kill her brother if that is what it takes. The world is more important than love. That is the secret grandpa knew that the other preachers get wrong.”

    “Then comes the twist!” She was proud to use that word right, just last week she said twisted. “The two did not run away together. Instead, the traitor stole the dish.”

    “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Inquired Nicole from the doorway.

    “I am reading to the dead priest, mommy.”

    “Why are you doing that?”

    “So he can understand when he comes back to life.”

    “You know he’s not really dead, right?”

    “Yes. It was a lie.”

    “A good lie.”

    “To get uncle Jack to do what he needed to.”

    “That’s right. Your brother needed to go and be raised somewhere else.”

    “Why do you keep the dead priest?”

    “He’s not dead. He’s in a coma. We keep him like that so the tumor doesn’t get any worse. We keep him because he has a part to play.”

    “I do not like his part.”

    “You don’t know his part.”

    “Do too.”

    Nicole held out her hand and her daughter came to her. As they left the room the daughter looked over her shoulder. She saw the lamp turn itself off when the mother did not. She wondered who didn’t know the dead priest’s part after all.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      As usual, your writing is strong, mystical. This one takes a more personal look at the characters. I like that, they are more three dimensional and somewhat more understandable. I still do not comprehend all of it. I am going back to reread not because the gray cella are weak, but there’s so much muck in the cells, they have a tendency to re remember and drop the new.

  5. JosephFazzone

    Dish: It’s always easy at first. For the most part, you’re not fully aware you are caught within it’s web. You just feel giddy, you feel alive, you feel pumped up, and then you just want to scream across the roof tops. That’s always the blissful beginning.

    (pause)

    Dish: Bliss. Now that’s a word almost synonymous with ignorance, but in this case, the bliss is the part where she is so amazing, and you’ve never met a girl who could so fill you with the desire to be everything you can be.

    Mack: She did this?

    Dish: Yeah, she did. She put me over the moon before the cow thought to even jump it, but we waited, and as everyone looked on in disbelief, we made our getaway.

    Mack: The perfect crime.

    Dish: Crime? Bah! Crime of passion! It was that stupid mutt guffawing near the post that tipped anyone off. He laughs at everything.

    Mack: So you ran.

    Dish: We ran, and rested, and walked, and then ran some more. I was sure we’d made it.

    Mack: So what happened?

    Dish: A stupid whisk named Morty happened. They’d been in love before we ever met. I wasn’t a match for his speed, and before I knew it, I was thrown into the corner. I suffered a chip, and a small crack.

    Mack: You lost her.

    Dish: She chose him! She did! They were both traitors!

    Mack: And you couldn’t lose her.

    Dish: (sobs) No, I…I couldn’t. I tracked them to a small B&B that overlooks the Mississippi. She has a thing for steamboats. There was no reason to suspect…to suspect.

    Mack: You are going down.

    Dish: That’s the plan.

    (Dish pulls out a handgun and points it to his head.)

    Dish: Stupid dog!

    (shoots himself)

    Mack: (sotto voce) Crockery!

    Kettle walks in.

    Kettle: Well that’s that. Confession, and he did the dirty work for us. I’d call that the double bonus. Sharp as always, Mack.

    Mack: Thank you, sir. It was my sister he killed. Fork’s going to be crushed.

    Kettle: Well, I suggest you call your sister, and I will take care of this. Go on. Your family needs you.

    Mack: Yes sir, and thanks.

    Mack exits.

    Kettle: (to walkie) Pot? Now stop that, we’re the same color, look in the mirror. I need a clean up crew. We have a suicide.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      Never thought about a stage play for dish and spoon. I thought it very clever. One thing confuses me. Mack says: “Thank you, sir, it was my sister he killed.”
      Then kettle says:” Well, I suggest you call your sister.’ [But the sister is already dead?}

  6. TMClarke

    So the cat is out all night, sawing away at the fiddle. And at first it’s like – ‘Ok, that’s kind of cute, a cat with a fiddle. I mean most of us like cats. Right?’ But then after a couple of long nights it’s – ‘If that fucking cat doesn’t stop I’m gonna personally terminate his musical career.’

    Then somebody makes a video and puts it up on YouTube. I think it was probably Little Dog. He likes a good laugh. And the video goes viral. And next thing we know, the damn cat has a recording contract with some company out of Japan – turns out to be the same group that does those Hello Kitty dolls with the bobbly heads – and now we’re not just hearing him fiddling around all night long but there’s this crazy Gangnam thing that get’s going and cats all over the world start picking up fiddles and trying to get in on the action.

    Then this cow somewhere out in Nebraska – I’m not kidding you – jumps right over the friggin’ moon. Nobody was expecting that. She just runs up to the top of this little hill one night and jumps, udders flying every which way, and she sails right over. And it’s like one small jump for a cow one giant leap for cowkind. And I’m thinking, maybe she was sick of the cats diddling and fiddling. I know I was.

    Anyway, Little Dog thinks maybe he can turn this cat fiddling and cow-moon-jumping into some kind of competition sport. Put the whole thing on YouTube – maybe get some kind of VR tie-in through Facebook – make some money. Which sounds just dumb enough to actually work.

    So he takes this guy out to dinner who has money to burn. And he likes to take chances. And Little Dog is talking and laughing and pretty soon he has this guy believing that he can cash in big time on fiddling cats and moon jumping cows. It’s like totally new and Little D thinks he has the guy where he wants him. But right in the middle of the desert course the guy’s fucking desert dish grabs his spoon, hops off the table and starts rolling for the door.

    Of course, the waiters and the maitre’d are all over that shit. But there’s no way they’re going to catch these guys because they are fast and motivated. And the next thing anyone knows, a whole place setting for twelve has hoped a cab and in heading for the West Coast. So the deal is off.

    End of story? After a while the cats got tired of fiddling. A couple of cows suffered some hard landings. And Little Dog laughed so hard he got laryngitis.

    Nobody knows what happened to the dishes and spoons. I’m guessing they were all washed up.

    The End.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      I loved this story, I want to know what you’re smokin’ so I can get some. I love the parady on the moon landing and also the udders flying everywhere. Most amuzing tale.

  7. cosi van tutte

    “I am a big and glorious plate. Look at all this shiny gold detailing along my edges. Look at my smooth porcelain curves. You think I came from a Detroit Walmart store?”

    The fork was about to give his opinion, but she just kept on going.

    “Nuh-uh. I came from Macy’s department store in Rochester Hills. And that’s Rochester Hills, Michigan. Not Rochester Hills Nowhereville, Indiana. You know what that means?”

    The knife stopped listening and proceeded to slice baked potatoes. He figured that was more interesting than listening to her self-absorbed spiel.

    “No.” said the fork.

    “What do they teach the young folk nowadays? It means that I am super upper class. I am so above all of the onion peels and bread crumbs like you and that knife and…oh. You see the gravy boat all the way over there?”

    The fork looked around. He didn’t see any gravy boats.

    “Yeah. I’m so above him too.”

    “So, you don’t want to run away with me and get married?”

    The plate was appalled. “Who said that you could get a whole big line like that? This story is all about me! Deluxe, beautiful, wonderful me. And no. No, I don’t want to run away with lusterless little you. I am too awesome for you to handle. Anyway, I don’t intend to get married.”

    The cake plate was so shocked by that statement she almost stumbled off the table. “But my dear! Every woman wants to—”

    “Shush you! This is my story. I’m the main character. That means I get all of the speech bubbles, all of the monologues, all of the dialogue. Every single word: mine! Every single thought: mine! The rest of you may sit still and admire my brilliance.”

    “Well.” The toothpick holder snapped a toothpick in half. “I didn’t sign up to be no mute extra.” He spit out the rest of his toothpicks. “I’m out of here!” He jumped off the counter.

    “Wait for me, my darling!” The feather duster flurried after him.

    The fork watched them run out the door. A sad sort of envy penetrated his stainless steel.

    “As I was saying, I don’t intend to ever get married.” She sheened. “Unless he’s single, attractive, and expensive. Otherwise, not—Whoa!”

    A silver spoon swiveled across the tablecloth. He stopped over by the punch bowl and chatted to a random trivet.

    “Who is THAT?”

    “A spoon.” said the fork. His irritation and jealousy came through loud and clear, but the plate didn’t even notice.

    “Ohh, that is no ordinary spoon. That is a silver spoon. High quality silver. Oh! See how he shines and glows. He’s practically a candle!”

    The fork couldn’t take more than that. He walked over to the knife, shoved him out of the way, and stabbed the potatoes repeatedly with his tines.

    “Oh, I must meet him.” She rolled over to the spoon.

    “And that’s why you should never trust meat tenderizers.” He and the trivet burst out laughing.

    “Excuse me.”

    The spoon spun around and gasped. “Ahh! Such beauty. Such exquisiteness.”

    The plate sheened. “Yes, I know. But please do tell me more.”

    The spoon raced over to the cake server. “So. What are you doing after supper tonight?”

    She giggled, spewing cake crumbs with each giggle.

    The plate turned hot with anger. “I will not stand about to be humiliated and embarrassed in front of my admiring audience.” She did a rolling leap off the table. “Farewell, cruel world! I’m leaving.”

    The fork stopped his assault on the potatoes and ran after her. “Wait!”

    She looked down at him.

    “Don’t go alone. You will be robbed and crunched. I will protect you.”

    “You’re a stainless steel fork from Walmart. You came in a pack of sixteen forks for fifty-nine cents. I was a solo purchase for three hundred and sixty-nine dollars.”

    “But I can protect you.”

    “Hmm. I suppose. But don’t expect me to fall in love with you and propose to you, because that will never happen.”

    The fork shined. It wasn’t a brilliant shine like the spoon, but he shined all the same. “I don’t expect that it will.”

    1. Kerry Charlton

      I think there’s going to be chaos here. The fork was just waiting for his chance with the plate.But as soon as he bends a tine messing with the plate he won’t be attractive to her. I can see spoon taking his place and then all hell is going to break loose. Loved your tale.

  8. charkhanolakha

    Oil and grease scrubbed off, at the end of hard day’s night, the spoon would stand at the little Italian restaurants window, waiting for the moon. She would yawn, and stretch, droplets of water glistening on her silver body, reflecting the moon’s soft light.

    This was her favorite part of the day. She would be exhausted, and sore, but bathing in the moonlight made her feel fresh and new. She knew she looked beautiful in the moon’s satin beams. She would sit at the window night after night, swaying gently to the fiddler’s music, watching the waltz of the stars, feeling perfect, and whole.

    Time passed, though. The moon was as unblemished as ever, but the spoon had begun to rust. Brown deposits had begun to accumulate and gather in the patterns engraved on her tail, tarnish discolored her once brilliant silver.

    If she could be closer to the moon, she thought, his light would hide all of her little faults and flaws. The few bits of her as yet untarnished would shine brighter than ever; the itch in her heart caused by her rusty skin would be at an end.

    But the moon would not come any closer. She simpered and preened and flirted, all of the things that worked so well with the forks and the knives and the kettles. But the moon was lost in his own thoughts, sadly watching the stars dance, ruminating on the morning; when the sun would chase him away and the cool contentment of the night would be over. He had no time to waste on a little spoon in a little restaurant in a little town in a small corner of the world.

    A young plate had started working at the restaurant. He would watch the spoon gaze longingly at the moon, night after night, hoping one day she would look at him like that.

    Finally, one day he spoke to her. The spoon had had very little attention to pay to the plate earlier; dishes and forks came and went, it was the moon her thoughts always landed on.

    Her gaze clouded by her desire for the moon, she looked at the plate. She was struck by how closely he resembled the moon, pristine skin glowing white, round and complete, capable of containing and holding happiness.

    Maybe he could complete her like the moon had once done, she thought.

    She began to flirt desperately with the dish, turning away from the moon for the first time in years.

    The plate could not hide his delight and shone with gratitude, looking more like the moon than ever.
    As she basked in the dishes glow, she thought if she could not have the moon, the dish would do.
    That night they ran away to get married, the dish gleeful because he finally had the spoon, and the spoon grateful for such a close substitute.

    They came back to the restaurant, spending their nights dancing their dance to the fiddler’s music when the day’s business was complete.

    Finally one day, a new hireling was careless with the plate. The plate now had a crack running down his center. His cracked surface could no longer shine.

    The spoon began to feel the absence of a glow to reflect; she began to yearn for the moon’s eternal light once more.

    She returned to the window again that day; something she had not done in years.
    She began waiting for the plate to fall asleep, so she could walk over to the window to gaze at moon. The old familiar itch had begun to grow in her heart again.

    The plate begun to realize the spoon’s heart was no longer in the dancing, and he went to sleep earlier and earlier. The spoon was grateful for the extra time she could now spend longing for the moon.

    One night, yet another careless hireling dropped the plate, swept up the broken pieces and threw them in the bin.

    The spoon did not realize that the plate had not come to her to dance that night, as she sat by the window, contemplating the moon

      1. Kerry Charlton

        This not only reflects lost love in a marriage due to changes in the two lovers through the years but also from one turning away from their love anlooking for perfection and then discovernng she had nothing to love but a memory of love.

  9. Kerry Charlton

    The Mystery of the Silver Chalice and the Thirteenth Apostle Spoon

    For close to two thousand years, man has looked for The Holy Grail. In doing so, in 1565 a descendent of the Apostle Peter came closer than any before or after. Searching through a monastery in Tibet, he came across the thirteenth spoon of the apostles. Rather than the face of Christ, there arose from the spoon an image of the Virgin Mary.

    As he ransacked the room looking for the Grail, he found a silver chalice like none other. At that moment, the door opened to a pair of sturdy monks who rushed him. Instead of releasing the two treasures he had sought so long., he held both close to his body and crashed through a locked window and fell through seven hundred feet of icy wind to his death.

    The monastery waited until most of the ice and snow had melted and searched the valley for remains of the Apostle Peter’s descendent. No body or evidence of one and of course the thirteenth apostle spoon and the Silver Chalice were no where to be found. As years went by a legend grew, on full moons during the summer months those in the valley tending sheep, spoke of a giant of a man’s ghost walking the rocky terrain, his arms lifted to the moonlit sky speaking in a foreign tongue.

    Six hundred year old rumor people say, romancing the idea but what really did happen? Did the spoon run off with the dish, Hey Diddle Diddle?.

    July 17, 1848, an exploration led by Sir Robert V. Cornwall, entered the valley of the Silver Chalice as it was so named. With little fan fare, the team spread through the rugged terrain under the monastery. A fierce summer storm ravaged the valley that day. Eleven of the explorers were killed and twelve injured. The mission ended their quest in disappointment.

    A few years later, while entertaining guests telling of his adventure, Sir Robert fell to the floor like a falling stone. He died before his face hit the marble. An autopsy proved nothing and his death certificate listed cause as ’Sudden Death Syndrome.’

    August of 1912 , an American industrialist, Henry Watson Johnson III, of steel mill fame entered the valley of the Silver Chalice with a vengeance. Not bringing explorers but heavy earth moving equipment, he set up to tear the earth away from beneath then monastery. Clouds filled with thunder, winds rose and an historic rain fall of over twenty inches, trapped him in the valley of the Silver Chalice.

    A twenty foot wall of water ran through the forest, sweeping away Johnson’s equipment and all but three of his men. Their bodies were discovered, most of them but not the industrialist. The world waited with high tension to here the survivors tell of the experience to no avail. Their lips remained sealed till death.

    And so the valley remains, the monastery looks over the area, it’s walls tell no secrets and the world wonders, ‘Hey Diddle Diddle, where is the Silver Chalice and the thirteenth apostle spoon with the vision of the Virgin Mary?

    Perhaps it was meant to be, for through out history and legends, is it not true that the quest of man remains more important than the prize itself?

    Hey Diddle Diddle, the spoon ran off with the dish and no one knows where. Hey Diddle Diddle.

  10. ShamelessHack

    Maria.
    I’ve just met a spoon named Maria.
    And suddenly that utensil,
    Seems light and so prehensile,
    To me…

    Tony the Dish faced down Riff the Saucer.
    “I’m going to quit the gang, Riff. I met a spoon named Maria. I’m running away with her. I can’t be a member of The Plates anymore.”
    “But Tony, The Plates need you. We’re having a rumble with The Forks under the highway tonight, right after the dance in the YMCA kitchen.”
    “I don’t know, I just can’t–”
    “Come on Tony. When you’re a Plate, you’re a Plate all the way!

    Tonight, tonight,
    Won’t be just any night,
    My spoon is young and pure and unafraid.
    Tonight, tonight,
    I’ll see my spoon tonight,
    And for us there’ll be boxes of Cascade.

    “No Tony, don’t go to the rumble,” Maria pleaded. “Bernardo the Steak Knife will be there. He’ll kill you.”
    “I’m sorry Maria, I have to go. The Plates need me. I can’t let them down.”

    My mother is a cheeseboard,
    My father won’t wash up,
    My sister sleeps with soup spoons,
    My brother wears a cup,
    They say I’m late for lunches,
    But don’t call me for supp,
    Glory-oskey, that’s why I’m washed up.
    Gee Officer Krupke…

    Bernardo’s blade was sticking out of Riff.
    “Tony, it was Bernardo who stabbed me,” Riff gasped. “You gotta get him.”
    Tony bent over Riff, who finally fell back and broke into a dozen pieces.
    “Auggh!” Tony screamed, as he turned and shot Bernardo.
    Bernardo’s gun went off as he died, and the bullet blew Tony to a million bits of china.
    Needless to say, Maria the Spoon was bent out of shape for a very long time.

    There’s a place for us.
    Somewhere a place for us.
    Spoons and dishes and plates and forks,
    Knives and cups, bottles and corks.
    Somehow.
    Some day.
    Somewhere.

          1. Penney

            The spoon was bent outof shape, lol. Lets rumble. I got a taste of Grease, Westside Story, and maybe Romeo& Juliet all with a twist. Nice

  11. Jay "The Doc" Wilson

    Spoon and de Platé

    As he turned the cream page, Toliver Spoon looked up from his book. It was there he saw Allison cleaning the counter in the kitchen. While he didn’t really want her to clean anything, she insisted because it calmed her, gave her time to think and work through anything that bothered or excited her. He didn’t know what bothered her, but he knew she would come to him when she was comfortable enough to do so.

    The champagne sun poured through the window and glazed her skin with a brilliant sheen. Her soft blonde hair reflected the sunlight, giving off an aura as though she were an angel hiding among humanity.

    Indeed, Toliver believed her to be just that. An angel. He wasn’t religious, but that didn’t matter because it was the association, how being a seraph aptly described her existence rather than as some supernatural being from heaven.

    He thought this because she’d saved him. Before he met her, he lived as a broken man that time and loneliness had destroyed. He had been living in the shadows of his past, his emotional state deteriorated by his inability to find happiness.

    In his lonely place, in that dark corner of his life secluded from the world and drowning in the lives of others around him, he thought it would all end the night he gazed down at the polished blade in his hands. He thought that his life couldn’t get better, and he feared that life would only get worse. He knew he was already at the edge of sanity, teetering at the penultimate moment before something would tip him into madness, and he wanted to end it all before that happened.

    At the time, he hadn’t realized that he had already plunged into that black abyss. When things are at their darkest, when one can only quantify happiness by faded memories, something takes over. Something not outright understood, but unfortunate, solid in existence. Toliver had come to that point on the night he planned to kill himself, and he was fully ready to leave this world for the next.

    That was when Allison de Platé came to him. Truthfully, she had been in his life before, but he never noticed. Even on that night, the night his dark half whispered into his ear, daring him to fade into the darkness, she came out of the shadows and into his life. Perhaps it wasn’t as symbolic as that because it had played out much more mundane. She merely knocked upon his door, and he answered, thus changing his forever.

    However, it wasn’t just his life that changed that night. Allison had changed, too. She was his neighbor, an unknown face among the crowd. That night, she was more than just a regular face hiding with all the others. She was a pretty face distorted by the wretched man she once called her husband. She was somebody he could see, and someone that could see him.

    Standing in front him beyond that opened door, she nearly doubled over in pain. Her lip spilled blood onto the floor, her eye purple and inflamed, her left arm slack and motionless from when her husband yanked her too hard and pulled it from its socket. The man with whom she’d giving her live to through marriage had pulled a fistful of hair from her skull, leaving a large bloody patch above her right ear.

    Looking at her that night as she shied away from the door with the expectation that he, too, would hurt her, he didn’t see himself the same anymore. In fact, he didn’t see himself at all. He only saw the woman before him, damaged as much on the outside as he was on the inside. While he couldn’t relate to the physical pain, he knew what she knew—likewise, she knew what he knew. They knew this because all broken people can see others who are also broken. They can feel each other. On this connection, they had immediately built a relationship more powerful that either had experienced.

    Throughout that evening while he tended to her wounds, they talked about each other. She told him about her life in that apartment, about her husband, about how her father used to treat her behind closed doors. He told her about his life, about how he wanted to kill himself, wanted to end all the pain he was feeling. He told her things that happened to him, too, when he was little, but that no one else knew about or could even understand. In that, he was no longer alone. Neither of them was alone now.

    In a hasty moment of rash judgment, they decided to run. They both needed to get away from their lives, and find new hope among the rotting stars. Maybe they would find those beautiful twinkling stars that everyone always talked about but that they had never seen. Maybe they wouldn’t. They didn’t know, but they needed to try.

    Now, ten years later, they lived together. They never took to a relationship, but it didn’t matter. They loved with a love that was more than either of them could describe, more than anyone could understand. They found their stars, ones that shined bright within each other, brighter than the ones shining down from the heavens. It was brighter than the sun, hotter than the light shining through that window as she gently wiped the counter clean.

    She finally looked up, and smiled. Warm and beautiful, timid and loving, he reciprocated with one of his own. When he returned to his book, he felt his chest tighten, his heart dance, and his emotions sang a song they both could hear. A song they both sung. A song that would last an eternity and more.

      1. charkhanolakha

        I agree :). I also really loved this line “Perhaps it wasn’t as symbolic as that because it had played out much more mundane. She merely knocked upon his door, and he answered, thus changing his forever” because it rings so true.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Romance on a high level, rising from the pit of despair. This is so beautiful and full of charm it sets a new course for me for the rest of the day and many after. Thank you the beautiul story.

  12. Beebles

    Around the World in 80 years

    ‘The Parthenon,’ he announced, squeezing her arm somewhere deep within the layers of her clothing.
    She peered, full of excitement, and could make out the stripes of columns and the rosy glow of the setting summer sun that reflected off the triangular …

    ‘Pediment, Mrs Dish,’ he said, reading her thoughts once again. He knew so much. But she wasn’t daft.

    Tourists eddied around them. Like two twigs floating in a river, he led her gently to the steps and she pressed her hands against the centuries old stone. She wanted to cry. But she wanted to rest more. It had been a long trip. Not as long as she had imagined, but tiring none the less at her age.

    He took her to the side and they sat down on the steps together looking back into the city. Across the way a busker played Sleepy Moggy, his bow stuttering once or twice.

    ‘Are you hungry, Mrs Dish?’

    ‘I am, Mr Spoon.’

    ‘Then I shall fetch us something to eat.’ He used a column to raise his old bones.
    ________________________
    When he had arrived in the Croydon Old People’s Prison, as he called it, the old cow of a Matron was making everyone’s life a misery. So he reciprocated. He ended up being made to sit in his room. Looking out of the window, the wide world he had known was reduced to a privet hedge and a concrete patio.

    No-one visited. He had no family, thanks to the twinkle in his eye: it had cost him three marriages and a few hundred thousand pounds. At seventy five it was probably time to settle down. Most of the money was gone anyhow.

    They met in the dining room. He saw her walking her hands along the sideboard, searching out the crockery while the staff stood by.

    ‘Dish?’ he said, guiding her slender hand to the plates, double meaning intended.

    ‘Spoon?’ she replied instantly with a silver giggle, a promise fulfilled that evening.

    And that was how they called each other.

    One day, he arrived with flowers at her room to find her in tears, photo albums open on the bed. Her eyesight had now deteriorated to such an extent that she could no longer recognise herself in her modelling photos taken in the 50s; before her parents had fallen ill and she had fallen into caring. All those dreams of a jet set lifestyle quashed between the letters of diseases she could not even spell. He closed the albums.

    ‘I don’t want that girl.’ He stroked her high cheek with wrinkled fingers. ‘I want Mrs Dish. Come with me. I think its time you saw something of the world.’

    They left those sterile corridors in the early hours, toddling down the driveway in almost every stitch of clothing they owned. The old cow would probably be over the moon to see them gone.

    ‘Why can I only take one bag?’ she asked.

    ‘Well, who would hold my hand?’ he replied.
    _____________________________

    They ate, and when all the tourists had left, they snuggled down together between the columns, sheathed in their great mounds of clothing. He held her hand up to trace the constellations in the night sky and told her their stories. While they shared a bottle of wine, car horns barked in the streets and stray dogs laughed.

    ‘Where would you like to go tomorrow, Mrs Dish?’

    She snuggled her face into the beard that had begun to spread like the armies of Alexander across his face. ‘Oh, what about Egypt, Mr Spoon? I always wanted to the see the tomb of Tutankhamen.’

    He cradled her as far as his arms would reach. ‘Hey diddle diddle, Mrs Dish. Then that is where we will go.’

    The next morning he woke her before the security guards arrived. They packed up their belongings and wheeled the trolley into Russell Square. First to the Sphinx by the river, he thought, then on to Highgate cemetery. He pushed the trolley; she held his arm and the city woke around them.

  13. ReathaThomasOakley

    The dish ran away

    Horace slipped quietly into the butler’s pantry to watch Sarah moving along the side board in the dining room dusting dishes and silverware.

    “Hey, diddle, diddle,” she sang, so softly that at first Horace couldn’t make out the words, “the cat and the fiddle…that would be a sight to see,” she laughed and touched her rounding belly, “our ole Tom, with a fiddle.”

    How beautiful she was, Horace thought, not a girl anymore, but a woman near grown.

    “The cow jumped over the moon…we gotta get us a cow, we gonna need us a cow,” she lifted the silver cream pitcher, exhaled a puff of breath, and smiled at her reflection as she polished the surface. Horace wanted to run into the room, grab the pitcher, and fling it out the window. He’d ordered the silver set from Sears and Roebuck for Sue Ann, the woman he’d built this house for. He wanted Sarah to have things he’d buy just for her, but there was no money, and soon he’d likely have to sell the set and most everything else in the house.

    “The little dog laughed…oh, we need us a dog, too,” Sarah put the rag down and gripped the edge of the buffet. Horace had seen her do that before, but she’d said it was just their daughter, letting her know she was there. “That you laughin’, too?” she rubbed her belly. “Reckon you dancin’ a jig in there, way you movin’.” Sarah straightened and picked up the rag. “The little dog laughed to see such a sight, ain’t that right, Horace? Didn’t that little dog laugh?” She turned toward her husband.

    “You knowed I was there?” Horace walked to Sarah and took her in his arms, how small she was.

    “I always know, I kin feel you, feel yore love,” she pressed her cheek to his chest. “I feel yore love like I can feel yore heart beatin’ right now.” He kissed the part in her hair.

    “I was listenin’ to you singin’, Mama usta sing them nursery rhymes to me, after I said my prayers, to soothe me to sleep. You gonna sing to all our babies?” Sarah tensed. “What’s wrong? She kickin’ up a fuss?”

    “No, no,” she tightened her arms around his waist. “I jest don’t never see but one baby, our girl.”

    “Ah, honey, you jest see one ’cause that’s all you carryin’ now,” as soon as he said that the baby kicked against him, the hardest he’d ever felt.

    “No, Horace,” Sarah said against his shirt front, “we see things, the women folk do.” Horace stroked her hair until she seemed to relax.

    “Now then, why don’t you finish up yore song. I been thinkin’ here, that story kinda ends up jest like us, don’t it? You run away with me, didn’t you?” Sarah looked up at Horace.

    “The little dog laughed to see such a sight,” she raised her face for a kiss, “and the dish ran away with the spoon,” she finished in a whisper.

    1. cosi van tutte

      Hi, Reatha!

      When I read this prompt, I wondered how you were going to fit it into your story. 🙂 This part is so soft and tender, especially after the tension in the previous parts.

      You did a great job showing the love between them. It’s too bad they won’t get a happily ever after. 🙁

      Oh, and just so you know, I really like this part:

      “I always know, I kin feel you, feel yore love,” she pressed her cheek to his chest. “I feel yore love like I can feel yore heart beatin’ right now.” He kissed the part in her hair.”

    2. charkhanolakha

      You tied this in with the prompt so prefectly, Reatha. And I agree with Beebles, their love is super believable especially with this line “Horace stroked her hair until she seemed to relax.”

  14. cosi van tutte

    Yay! This is actually a short one. (Even if it isn’t quite sticking to the prompt).

    I ran away with him on a flash-dash whim. Neither of us meant to run as far as we did. Neither of us counted on a quick trip to Vegas in a beat-up Cutlass Sierra. When we came back from Vegas, he was my husband and I was his wife.

    And I didn’t mean for it to go that far.

    He was a dishwasher at The Loco Magoo and I was just another pretty face luring the customers in. The food there wasn’t all that great. My Great-Grandmother Ashlako could beat our cook in a cooking challenge. Truth be told, she could beat anyone.

    But what did it matter? My job was silly and vapid, but it paid my bills. I went to work, did my pretty face routine, went home, slept well. Life was good.

    Then, I met him.

    Tadoshi Numara.

    He wasn’t all that handsome. But when he smiled and when he laughed, his smile and his laugh were genuine. They weren’t pasted on politeness.

    He liked me. Yes, I was a pretty face, but he saw me as more than that. He saw me as me – strange, conflicted, complicated me. I could be kind and spiteful, gentle and mean, soft and hard, and he still liked me all the same.

    I liked him too. He was someone I could talk to when my feelings were hurt, when the day was full of stress, when my heart was broken hard.

    And then he kissed me. Gentle and kind with no demands and expectations. Just a simple kiss. It surprised us both. Yet, it also didn’t surprise us at all. It was the right time, the right moment.

    So, I kissed him too. And my heart sang songs of joy.

    Then, our boss spoke to me and told me that he had to let me go. It made me feel like I was a fish he didn’t mean to catch and chose not to keep. So, he was releasing me back into the waters.

    I cried. Our boss looked disconcerted. He had no experience with crying women. He didn’t know what magic word to say to make me stop. Tadoshi came into his office and comforted me. He asked if I wanted to go for a ride. I could not say the “Yes” I wanted to say.

    So, I nodded.

    Our boss looked unhappy about Tadoshi leaving work early, but he didn’t want me to keep crying. So, he let us both leave.

    We drove off in Tadoshi’s navy blue Cutlass Sierra. We drove down the street, turned the corner, and kept driving.

    Somehow we wound up in Vegas in front of the All You Can Marry Wedding Chapel. It was not how I wanted to get married. Growing up, I had many daydreams about my wedding day, many heavily bouqueted daydreams. Las Vegas wedding chapels never appeared.

    But that is where we were wed.

    And now he is my husband and I am his wife. And that is how it will be till death do us part.

  15. cosi van tutte

    He was a decorative dish.

    She was a working class spoon.

    He was meant to be seen and commented on.

    She was meant to be used.

    They were worlds apart, forever separated by the oak and waved glass of the curio cabinet.

    But, oh! How he loved her.

    The other decorative plates and glass decanters ridiculed him. “She is too far beneath your station.”

    “Why would you want to be with her?”

    “She sticks her head into THEIR mouths.”

    “Gross.”

    “Uncouth.”

    “Common.”

    “Drab.”

    But he could not be dissuaded from his love. “I will be with her.”

    A crystal whiskey flask chortled. “Yeah. When cows fly over the moon.”

    The brandy snifter leaned towards the plate and said in a gossip’s whisper, “Don’t waste your time with that spoon. The entire kitchen knows that the spoon is top-over-end in love with the knife. And, quite frankly, who wouldn’t be? He’s so slim and straight and sharp-witted. Even the new teaspoons are infatuated with him.”

    “But I love her.”

    The snifter gave him a sympathetic chink. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

    ***

    He watched her during the dinner party. The glass warped and wavered her silver body, but she gleamed bright in the mellow candlelight. So perfect. So lovely. “I love her so.”

    She kept to her business, never looking at him, never noticing his loving gaze.

    He couldn’t help but wonder if the snifter was right. She was the smartest one of the whole curio group. So, she usually was right about stuff. But, he thought. couldn’t she be wrong this one time? But what if she is right? What then? “Is my love all in vain?”

    The whiskey flask whooped out a rude laugh. “What a sap! What a maroon! What a complete—”

    The Moroccan olive oil cruet spitooied a glop of oil at the flask. “Don’t be a killjoy.”

    “Hey! Watch it, ya dummy. I’m faceted crystal. I retain stains.”

    The cruet shuffled over to the plate as discreetly as he could manage. “Ignore that crass flask. Forget all about the gossip. You know what you want.”

    “So?”

    “So, go out there and get it.”

    “I would love to do that, but, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a glass and wood wall in my way.”

    “It is not a wall. It is a door. And doors do open.”

    “But I have no arms or hands.”

    The cruet sloshed happily. “Leave that to me.”

    “I don’t see how you can open it either.”

    “Trust in fate. Trust in the power of pure love. And trust me.” He sloshed again. “I have my way of getting things done.”

    *** to be continued****

    1. cosi van tutte

      Continuation/Conclusion….

      The lights were off.

      The kitchen was dark.

      Silence filled the whole house.

      The plate shuffled into a comfortable position on his wooden rack, but he couldn’t reach his Zenned out mental place. He kept thinking about her. Does she even know I exist? Does she care for me at all? What if she is in love with the knife? Maybe…Maybe it would be all for the best. Knives and spoons are meant to be together. But spoons and plates?

      He tried again to Zen out, but he caught sight of the Waterford crystal clock.

      Where is the cruet? he wondered. I know he slipped down to the bottom level of this cabinet around nine-thirty this evening. It is now two fifty-three in the morning. What could he be up to? Do I want to know? Yes. Maybe. No. Yes. Perhaps. No.

      The knife slammed into the curio, wedging himself in the tight space between the curio’s two doors. He yanked himself out, causing the doors to pop open. He somersaulted in the air and landed on the point of his blade right in front of the plate.

      “Huuuu-waaah! Woo-cha! I am ze awesome blade. And, I! I have come to free you, mon ami, from zis terrible cabinitte of horrors so zat you may be with your one true love.”

      The plate was so flummoxed he slipped in his rack and went crooked.

      “Non. Non. Zis is no time to be lie around. Passionate love awaits!” He hopped behind the plate and shouted, “Huuuuu-waaaah!”

      “Wait! What are you—”

      “Woooo-cha!” The blade bumped the rack with all of his slender might and knocked it off the shelf.

      “Ahhhh!” screamed the plate. “I don’t wanna diiiiie!” He fell out of the curio and landed face first on a fluffy throw. It was wondrously soft. He uttered a “Mmmph.” of appreciation.

      “Excuse me.” said an unfamiliar feminine voice.

      After a tremendous amount of trouble, the plate managed to get himself upright.

      The spoon stood before him – a vision of moonlight-glinted loveliness. The cruet stood beside her, looking vastly pleased with himself.

      “How?” It was only one word, but that was all the plate could get out.

      “As I said before, I have my ways of getting things done. I have secret contacts. I have strange and mystical powers.”

      “Really?” asked the plate.

      The cruet sloshed hysterically. “I’ll never tell. And you will never know. Anyway, I’ve done my part. The rest…I’ll leave it up to you.” He skipped to the curio and hopped inside.

      The plate looked down at her smooth, perfect lines no longer altered by waved glass. “This is the first time I’ve truly seen you.”

      “Are you disappointed?”

      “No. Are you…Do you really want to be with me?”

      He could have sworn that her shine grew brighter. “Oh, yes. I do. I’ve seen you sitting alone on that shelf. So proud and aloof.”

      “Aloof? Me?”

      “I never thought I’d have a chance with you. You are curio folk. I am only service folk. The other spoons told me that I was a fool to hope for your love. It was impossible. Silly. A bubble-thin soap dream. But…I’m not dreaming, am I? Is this real? Am I here with you?”

      “Yes.” A wicked idea clicked inside his fine porcelain. “Let’s run away.”

      “What? Now?”

      “Why not?”

      “What…Where will we go?”

      “Somewhere where we can just be together with no walls between us. Where we can be just you and just me.”

      Her shine grew even brighter. “Let’s go now.”

      As they ran out of the kitchen, the whiskey flask laughed. “I guess a cow must have flown over the moon.”

    1. cosi van tutte

      Hi, Amaria!

      Yeah, I was kind of surprised to see a second prompt too. I thought maybe it was just a whoops!-type glitch and it would just disappear like the time they did a repeat prompt. But now that I think about it, I assume it has something to do with Thanksgiving being next week.

      1. Amaria

        Yeah cosi I thought it may have been a glitch like the Frog in the Throat repeating itself.
        And @Shameless, I didn’t think of that – but I see how someone might have complained about the timing.
        I’m all for love stories, but a dish and spoon?

    2. Observer Tim

      It’s very likely Brian is going to be away for Thanksgiving next week; I recall in past that has meant no prompt for the week. This may be to forestall the issue; I’m going to pretend this one isn’t here for now and then jump on it next Monday.

      Tis a bit silly anyway. 🙂

  16. Cceynowa

    Hey Diddle, Diddle

    The bell over the diner’s door offered James little in the way of comfort. Tonight was not the night for a big crowd at Pete’s Bar and Grill. The oven was on the fritz again, Anna was late for her shift, Tommy was MIA on his smoke break, and Liz was too busy showing her boobs for tips to take more than one order every thirty minutes. Glancing at the clock, Tommy allowed himself a small smile. Sarah would be there soon.

    Sarah had a way of scooping the pieces of people’s broken lives together, but she never seemed to be able to put her own life in order. She’d studied psychology in college, and even had the foundation for a counseling certificate, but one failed relationship after another had eaten at her until, finally, she’d landed in one that nearly killed her. She’d told James that she had returned to Thurberville to find herself again. Her ex had beaten her, broken her, and she needed to heal. He’d understood, far more than he let her know.

    “JAMES,” Anna, all three hundred pounds of her, squeezed in the employee door in the back of his kitchen. “Oh James,” she cried again, “I have the bestest news! Guess! Go on, guess!”

    “Your alarm clock broke?”

    “What? Oh no, silly goose,” she stowed her purse in the linen cabinet and retrieved a clean apron off the stack, “I have found my true love!”

    “Truuuueeeee loooove,” Liz sang through the dividing window. “Order up James. Where is your boy-toy this time?”

    “Argentina,” Anna answered.

    “I can’t make this,” James said. “The oven is broke. See if they want a burger instead.”

    “No oven, no lovin’ for me tonight. Keep the fries comin’, let me tell you somethin’…”

    “Shut up Liz,” James shook his spatula at her, shooing her away. She rolled her eyes and put an extra swing in her hips walking away. Anna patted her hair one more time, making sure her hairspray was holding firm, and, humming merrily to herself, left him once more in the solitude of the PB&G’s rundown kitchen. He flipped the burgers he had on the grill and moved dishes to his too-full sink.

    “Where the hell is Tommy,” he muttered. Casting a final glance over the hot grill surface, he hurried to the back parking lot to find out what was taking the kid so long to smoke.

    “Tommy,” he called into the darkening East Texas night.

    “James?” Sarah’s voice answered.

    “Sarah? What are you doing out here?”

    “Talking with Tommy.”

    He followed the sound of their voices to the other side of the two large dumpsters set a ways back from the building. “What are you two doing? I need some help you know.”

    “Yes, you do James,” Sarah smiled up at him.

    “Why? Isn’t the fat cow and the little kitty in there,” Tommy’s young voice was high pitched and James could hear the laughter under its surface.

    “The cow and the kitty?”

    “Tommy has been telling me all about Anna and Liz,” Sarah explained. “We’ve been having quite the time.”

    “I bet. Listen you two, I need to get back in before I burn the place down.”

    “Burn it down! Burn another one down,” Tommy took a long drag and offered the joint to Sarah. She shook her head and rose to walk back to the diner with James.

    “I’m not feeling it tonight,” she said as she walked beside him.

    “Feeling what?”

    “This. The diner. Thurberville.”

    The tone of her voice made him stop. “Sarah, what’s wrong?” He looked down into her sea-green eyes and was surprised to find tears. They had been seeing each other for almost six months, and he had never seen her cry. Not even when she told him about her past abuse and her fear of the future.

    “Sarah?” He pulled her gently to him. “Tell me what you want sweetheart.”

    “To go. To find a new life. I thought coming home would fix things, but I’m not sure. You have helped me, but what kind of life can we have at the PG&B?”

    “A life?”

    “I’m pregnant.”

    Her words unsettled him, elated him, and scared him shit-less. “Let’s go,” he said. Tommy’s laughter followed them out of town.

    1. cosi van tutte

      Hi, Cc!

      I love the interaction between the workers. It felt very real and natural.

      I will admit, though, I do worry about James leaving the hamburgers on the oven unsupervised.

      My Internal Editor had one small nitpick: In the opening paragraph, you say that Tommy’s gone MIA on his smoking break, but then at the end of that paragraph…”Glancing at the clock, Tommy allowed himself….” That confused my IE into munching on Snickers instead of Reeses.

  17. jhowe

    They were about as likely to succeed as Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett. Both were hard bodied but way too predictable. Neither possessed a romantic bone, or any bone for that matter. All they shared was common ground and that seemed to be insufficient in the grand scheme of things.

    Despite the warning signs, they followed the script every time. The dish was supposed to run away with the spoon; it was written, and neither wanted to disappoint. Once, in 1978, the dish got to second base, briefly. The memories of this kept the dish’s hopes alive for some time. But, as memories often do, they faded into a mass of tarnished silver and childish giggles.

    This year, the dish vowed to take things in a new direction. Sure, they would run away. Everyone suspected that. But no one thought he’d ever attempt third base. He poured a generous amount of Hot Damn into his flask and steeled his nerve.

    The cat played beautifully, as always, on his imitation Stradivarius. The cow made her impossible leap once again. The dish never said so, but he envied the cow in this role. The little dog laughed his ass off, as if it were his first time seeing such sport. Secretly, the dish suspected the dog of being short minded.

    From the corner of his eye, he saw the spoon advance. He took a furtive slug from the flask and whisked her into an embrace as they made their getaway. Instead of stopping by the brook, he led her further into the forest. Many nursery rhymes featured forests and this was no different. At the cabin, he kicked out the ugly witch, released the children from the oven and sent them on their way.

    With raised eyebrows, the spoon took all this in. “It’s about fucking time,” she said.

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