The Perspective of a Spoon

The majority of my time is spent lying in a dark, crowded drawer among the other silver ware. My stainless steel body, stacked neatly between the other spoons, is constantly being threatened by the razor sharp edges of the knives. In case you didn't know, the knives are relentless bullies of the silverware. They are constantly digging their steel edges into my sides and leaving small imperfections on my steel body. On the other hand, the forks are surprisingly nice. Due to the fact that they are the most popular utensil in the drawer, the forks are seldom crammed in the drawer with us and when they are, they are placed into stacks and mind their own business.

Breakfast time is when we spoons get the most use. At around 6 o'clock each morning, some grumpy high school kid shoves his grubby hands around my handle. My face is then dunked  into a bowl of cereal. While I'm engulfed in milk, i can hardly breathe and the entire time I'm hoping to be picked up again. Unfortunately, when I am picked back up I only have a short time to regain my breathe before I am shoved into the dirty mouth of a kid. The smell from inside the mouth is unbearable and the sensation of having a slimy tongue run down my body gives me shivers. I find that I'd rather spend my time face down in some milk. 

After the kid has finished his or her cereal, I'm shoved into a dishwasher with my spoon friends. This time we are not neatly stacked. Instead we are  shoved into a small compartment, where we are then rinsed by soap and scalding hot water, while at the same time be rattled around violently. 

Finally, the dishwasher cycle has run its course and I'm placed back into the pitch black drawer only to repeat the same process within the next couple of days.