Dating Stories: Spoon Lady

I went on a date with a woman who loves the outdoors. You know, a hippy.

She asked me, “When you’re in bed with someone, are you the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Now, I’m not an idiot, I know what she meant, but my brain, well, I’m just not attuned to it like the rest of you. So when she asked about spoons I thought of playing spoons, you know, hitting them on your knee, so I thought, what’s she hitting people with spoons for? Is this part of this sex thing I’ve heard so much about? She whacks people with different sizes of spoons. If she really loves someone does she hit them with a ladle? In love she’ll club them with a shovel. It’s the spoon for the soil.

I don’t know. I mean, I know what a double bed is, but when people talk of double beds, I think of two beds, one on top of the other, you know, like bunks. Apparently men like to be on top, but some like it when the woman is on top, which makes sense to me because you can get out of bed easier, go get something, and get back into bed without having to climb a ladder or anything.

But the woman wanted to know what kind of spoon I preferred, and I was honest, because I said, “I don’t know,” because I’m not a part your world and I don’t know, but she thought I was holding back.

She said, “Tell me.”

So I guessed and said, “Oh, the big spoon.”

And she sighed and said, “I’m a big spoon too.”

Which I thought was a good thing, because we wouldn’t have to buy extra spoons, but apparently it wasn’t good, because the way she said it, it was as though two big spoons couldn’t co-exist. Which is strange because I’ve got a draw full of them. It made me worry that I’d have to go home and separate all my spoons. Give them their own space in the cupboards. Tiny little police states for each spoon. One day a spoon might get greedy and try to overthrow another spoon’s shelf space. They might call up a spatula and say, “See that splade? They’re not one of use. They’re different.” Soon all the culinary will be in anarchy.

That’s silly.

I didn’t tell Mum this story. I imagine she would have said, Oh, you should have offered to fork her, or something like that.

But yeah, as a spoon, I just didn’t cut it.

She was happy though. She said, “It was great to meet you,” which is a really bad sign, and then she walked off into the shrub to hug some trees. So yeah, she’s happy.


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