SPOON ME BABY

I love my life reflected in the concave surface of a tablespoon. When I was a college girl I use to get high and walk around my apartment with the shiniest tablespoon I could find (a task more challenging than you might think) and romanticize plots and subplots of my alter ego. I know this sounds terribly narcissistic, but life seriously looks so different on the curvaceous spine of a spoon. This little exercise always gave me a fresh new perspective of my tired old milieu. You should try it. Go ahead, you know you want to try it.

I'll even wait for you.

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I believe humans are natural born storytellers. We tend to drink in our surroundings with all five senses and then fill in the missing information with romantic caulking. When I spot an interesting person on the street, I can’t help but spin long wooly tales about them: His name is James. His mother died when he was in eighth grade. He wears size twelve shoes. He forgot to floss his teeth this morning. When he was ten he found a dead crow in his back yard. He felt so terrible for it he buried it next to the doghouse. He takes his dishes from the bottom of the stack so each one gets the same use. He always makes his bed. One time he got drunk on Gin and Tonics and threw up in the sink of a three star hotel bathroom. Sometimes he talks to his plants. He’s wearing a pair of socks that are losing their elastic power and now gather loosely around his ankles. He hates that. It has been two years since he kissed a girl.

Or something like that.

Of course, this romantic business isn’t all pinball and chocolate bars. When it comes to personal relationships, people so often find themselves brooding in disappointment and unfulfilled expectations.