(Fork and Knife)
It was an adolescent rite of passage; you moved out of the house—perhaps to college or your first apartment—and you brought Mom’s backup silverware with you. She begrudgingly passed along a few mismatched butter knifes, some bent spoons, and salad forks, then instructed you “not to lose them.” Somehow in the revolving seven-year door of roommates, boyfriends, dorms, apartments, and houses, I didn’t lose them. Not a one. In fact, two and a half years after buying a home and moving in with my boyfriend, they were a dinnertime staple.
After having to run the dishwasher every other day because my random cutlery only served one, Jay and I broke down and splurged on a $12 set from Wal-Mart. They were made of sturdy plastic, left small flecks of gray paint in our food, and had a bad habit of breaking while in use. Great buy, really.
My house is chalk full of crappy shit like this because there are certain purchases I equate with marriage; a bedroom set, fine china, ever day cutlery, a good silverware. Not sure why. Maybe they invoke some sort of feeling of permanence. My parents have used the same bedroom set, china, cutlery, and silverware for more than 35 years. Meanwhile, Jason and I are still using the bedroom set my dad had when he was a kid—missing drawer knobs and all—and our bed lacks a frame. None of these things make life less comfortable, but the hand-me-downs are symbolic of us still having our foot in the adolescent door.
If there was one thing I was most looking forward to getting for our wedding, it was matching cutlery. I was sick of our motley set-up and wanted something worthy of dinner guests. Dorky and domestic? Highly.
This Christmas, Jason and I unwrapped two boxes of Oneida flatwear. They weren’t plastic and painted gray. They weren’t bent, dull, or tarnished.
And they matched.
Door, closing.
January 6th, 2008 at 6:08 pm
Did they happen to be from my mom? I received the same two boxes and they rule - I’ll never do dishes again!