And the dish ran away with the spoon
Questions about my past life continue to crop up on a startlingly regular basis.
Things like, why do I still have these stupid end tables we bought back in 1982? They’re just contact paper on particle board. The complete set, including the long departed coffee table, cost less than $100. Twenty-two years of these cheesy end tables. What’s up with that?
Today’s question: If I have dinnerware service for only three, why do I have flatware service for 18? (And damned cheesy flatware at that. We’re talking a step or two below greasy-spoon diner grade. Some of the stainless is corroded.) Of course, that’s even before we start counting the plastic stuff.
Did I use that many paper plates that I could go nearly three weeks without washing a fork? Yikes!
