I am a little sad, I mean, I don’t have a picture of it?! I probably do.. pictures where chocolate chip cookies are involved. It was a good spatula. He served faithfully.
But before I get any further, I have to state that it is all genetics. Either those, or my example in parenting. One of those are surely to blame.
My mom broke a few cooking utensils (wooden spoons mostly) on my older brother’s behind.
I learned so many valuable lessons from watching his behavior and the outcomes of it. I was a good kid. Such a good kid…
Get to this point in time, and sweet little Lynnie-lou-hoo has developed quite the attitude. I will blame it on her female hormones, I don’t wish to believe her to be capable of being such a punk purposefully. We’ve had a few run-ins since she has turned eight, and they are not fun my friends. Not one smidgen of fun.
Last Saturday, she was on a tear about something so dumb. So dumb I can’t even remember it. She kept pushing it, arguing the point, and I kept telling her to leave it alone, it didn’t matter. (See how much it didn’t matter? I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the issue was!!)
I was making macaroni and cheese for the little ones, she wanted grilled cheese, and then she threw in the notion of a pickle, and well, that got my mouth drooling, so I decided, then and there, to make one for me too..
(Just for the record, I did not regret that choice.)
Anyway, she kept pushing it. Pushing me! I had had enough! ENOUGH. So to get her attention, I slammed my forest green, almost 11 year-old spatula on the counter top making an impressive “WHACKKKK!” sound effect as it made contact.
Well, it did get her attention. It ended the conflict pretty quickly, and I went on attempting to flip my delicious grilled cheese sandwiches. One turned effortlessly, the second one, not so much. It was like something was making it stick to the bottom of the pan. As soon as I finally got it turned, the top slice of bread (which had most recently been the bottom slice of bread), was all smooshed and crumpled-up like, the middle cheese layer partially exposed.
What did this to my lovely grilled cheese sandwich?
Oh well, on with it.
That spatula was also totally pro at cutting my delectable grilled cheese sandwiches into adorable little triangles. (See all the lovely qualities it possessed?) As I set out utilizing it to do what it did only second best, I noticed something was terribly wrong.
I looked at my forest green spatula, the one that is slightly oversized, perfect for grilled cheese sandwich-making, pancake flipping, and the like, and it was cracked!!! It was cracked in five separate places.
I was overcome with grief.
How could I go on without it?
Sure, I had other spatulas. Smaller spatulas. They had been around as long as the green guy, but they were not fit to replace him. Not even close. All their years of co-existing in drawers an utensil caddies did not benefit them in the ways I desired.
They are puny.
I have tried not to make grilled cheese this week, I just can’t do it without him!
He found his burial in the garbage can.
I told Lynn of the fatality that her behavior had caused (I had NOTHING to do with that…), and adequately guilt-tripped her.
(All this is joking, of course.)
But today was a happy, bittersweet day.
I went to Target.
(See, I sat the word and you get all warm and fuzzy, admit it.)
Among all the other things I forgot to purchase, let alone look at, I remembered to go take a gander at the supply of big guy spatulas.
I found a replacement.
He is all silicone-y.
He also has a happy new home in my kitchen utensil drawer.
Just wondering if the silicone element will make him less breakable in case I need to WHACK!! him on the counter too.
What do you think?