Once upon a time we bought a set of flatware for everyday use. Eight of everything: spoons, dessert forks, regular forks, and knives. Well, seven of the dessert forks; at some point in Illinois one of the dessert forks disappeared. All of the remaining utensils are just like their mates except for one spoon.
One of the eight spoons is squared off on the end where the rest are ovoid. Since I always felt like I never fit in, I am fond of this spoon. I pointed out the difference in the spoons to Michele, and didn’t think any more about it.
Tonight we were having dessert and she brought me a spoon. “The” spoon. Not only had she heard me point out the difference, she intuited that there was some meaning there for me. Not that getting this spoon is special, but having her go to the effort of making sure I got felt good.
It’s the little things that really matter.
