Instruments

The beautiful mistress of the house had bought four new forks and two new spoons to replenish the dwindling supply in the cutlery drawer. She put the forks away and turned round to find the handsome master of the house examining the other new utensils.

“I can play the spoons you know,” said the handsome master and he did a quick demonstration, tapping the spoons between hand and knee, and then running the spoons rapidly across his fingers. Luckily the mistress was as kind as she was beautiful, and she kept her thoughts on this to herself.

The handsome master got to his big finish: “Ta-da!”

“That’s lovely, dear,” said the beautiful mistress of the house, and she took the spoons from him and put them carefully away in the drawer.




“Wow,” said one of the forks. “I didn’t know you were musicians. You should have said!”

The spoons attempted to look modest. “We didn’t want to show off,” said the first. “Nobody likes a bighead,” said the second, nodding.

“But you’ve got a big…”

The fork was abruptly silenced by one of its siblings. It struggled free. “Talent, I was going to say.” It gave the other fork a piercing look and then carried on. “I’d love to be a musician too.”

The spoons glanced at each other. “Well,” said one, “I don’t think forks can play music, you know…”

“You were made for the catering industry,” said another of the forks, “and that’s what you’re going to have to do.”

“No!” said the fork. “I’m going to be… a tuning fork!”

There was a pause. And then everyone fell about laughing.

“You can’t be a tuning fork,” said the first spoon. “You’re just not the right shape.”

“I can do anything I like!” And the fork packed up and left the kitchen.




The mistress was as patient as she was beautiful and kind, and so did not swear repeatedly and creatively as she searched the entire house for the wretched thing.




Years later, quite by chance, the forks and spoons did see the runaway again. The beautiful mistress lent them to the town hall for an afternoon tea with accompanying dance, and they found the other fork already there—working with the piano tuner at the upright.

“I wouldn’t have recognised you,” said one of the spoons.

“I have had a lot of work done,” acknowledged the tuning fork. “You’ve got to look the part.”

“But your gorgeous prongs…” said another fork.

The tuning fork sighed. “Suffering for your art is necessary.”

“So, you don’t regret it?” said the other spoon.

“No,” said the tuning fork. “Sometimes you just know which path to take when you come to the fork in the road.”