Tonight I was forced to question my grasp on reality.
My sanity was suddenly all it was cracked up to be.
I was putting away the dishes and found a wooden spoon in the cutlery section.
This doesn’t seem particularly odd.
I only own two wooden spoons. And what I held in my hands wasn’t one of them.
“Love,” calls I. “Did you use a wooden spoon?”
“Yes,” says my love.
“Where did you get the spoon?” asks I.
“From the cutlery drawer,” he says, “right beside the other ones.”
I looked in the drawer.
Yes, two more spoons squatted insight.
Understand that I exaggerate not at all when I say that I had never seen them before in my life.
“Love, did you buy new spoons?”
Hope fizzled predictably with his “Nah, those have been there since I moved in.”
No fucking way.
There was a disagreement for the next several minutes.
My two indefutable points:
- why were we in Ikea looking for more wooden spoons if there were 4 already in the drawer (and not just the one we actually had)?
- we’d cleaned out the drawer together a couple of months ago and there were no such spoons in it then.
So we came to the agreement that the spoons had appeared somewhere along the way and that neither of us knew where from.
Meanwhile, I’d contacted potential suspects–friends, who could have somehow left wooden spoons in the drawer. No go. Thankfully they understand this whole process and don’t consider this my final push over the edge.
But, no, they weren’t the source of the spoons.
There is no known source for them.
It haunted me.
And then my covenmate reminded me that weirdness is just part of our lives.
The lesson of the day became clear: sometimes you just need to accept the spoons and move on.