I sigh as little Annie pulls me out of the utensil drawer. “Here we go again,” I think as Annie carries me to the kitchen table. She sits down next to her older brother, Thomas, and sticks me into her hot Won-Ton soup. I grit my teeth as the warm liquid consumes my head and warms my metal body.




Out of nowhere, Annie drops me and screams, “Owie! Mommy, Spoonie burnt me! Put her in the washer!” Spoonie, I sigh, to myself, is a name that no spoon with respect would have. Thank goodness I don’t have any respect.


Mrs. Anderson, Annie’s mother, picks me up by my feet and sticks me feet first into the dishwasher. She mutters under her breath, “Can’t Annie go through one meal without demanding ‘Spoonie’ go into the dishwasher? It’s not even the end of dinner.”


She pours in the liquid dish soap and closes the washer door. I start hyperventilating and struggling to breathe. It sucks being a spoon with claustrophobia. Especially when your washed about every other meal. The noise that means the dishwasher has started starts purring and it calms my metal nerves. “Breathe, breathe, just breath Spoonie,” I whisper and then bite my tongue for using my wretched nickname.


Suddenly, a splash of cold water slaps into my face and I taste soap bubbles. The torture-filled washing process has begun. As I’m splashed with water, soap, and all the other junk, my mind is elsewhere. I’m remembering when that new spoon, Jack, was checking me out in the drawer.


A voice interrupts my thoughts. “Well, Spoonie, I didn’t realize you was dirty,” says a thick Southern accent.


“Oh, hi Bill,” I reply to the rusty fork in the next door washing compartment. I’ve always hated Bill. He’s annoying, old fashioned, and flirts with utensils ten years younger than him. “Yeah, I’m dirty.”


Bill laughs and licks his lips, saying “Well, shoot! A utensil as pretty as you can’t be that dirty!”


Randomly, yet wonderfully, the dishwasher stops and the utensil rack is taken out, rescuing me from a tedious conversation with Bill. “”Whew,” I mumble to myself as I’m tucked safely into my drawer. Jack is looking at me again and I know the whole cycle is repeating itself.