Emotions of a metal spoon...

There is a whirring thing at the bottom of my drain that grinds up leftover food. I forgot exactly what it's called, but for purposes of laziness I'm just not going to look it up on google. It has a name, however, other than the one that I forgot, and the name is branded in a circle around my drain for all eternity. Its name is

In all seriousness I fucking love that thing. I used to have to scrape nasty rotten food off of plates and into the garbage and now I can just grind up used chicken bones in my sink instead. I'm living the lazy American dream. My only qualm with the whirring whatsit at the bottom of my drain is that it bullies my spoons and measuring cups. They slip down into the drain by accident and then when I start the insinkeratorthing in order to pulverize some mashed potatoes that are well on their way to being cheap vodka, the whole mess goes RRRRRRRRAAWwwwwwwrrMMMMMMmmmmmmKAlinkKAlinkKAlink (I bet that means something really horrible in Klingon. Then again, everything in Klingon is horrible.) And then my poor dishes look like the victimized interviewees on some exposee show called When Insinkerators Attack.

The other day this happened to a measuring spoon, and I had to try to hammer it back into shape, the whole time muttering apologies to the poor measurer.

Perhaps you think it's weird that I talk to my spoons, but I am of the Toy Story generation, and wholeheartedly believe in the souls and ambitions of inanimate objects.I am also a synesthete, a person whose brain confuses his or her senses so thoroughly that he or she (I think the non-sexist pronoun should be "it" but I have been told by my English teacher that this is insensitive to human beings) believes letters and numbers have colors and sounds, and air has a feeling, and feelings have appropriately corresponding colors, smells, and fratboys, and then the whole world turns into a giant knot made of embroidery thread.

Synesthesia is actually pretty cool and totally non- threatening, and you should look it up on Wikipedia, which will give you a much better explanation than the one I just offered.

ANYWAY,the point of all of this is that I have a totally logical reason, other than ancient Japanese Shintoism, for believing that my spoons feel the pain and wrath of the insinkerator on a deeply personal, spoon-ish level.

And so that you too may know what your utensils are thinking, I have compiled a handy-dandy spoon facial expression chart.

That little guy on the bottom right is just begging for some entertainment, isn't he?

UPDATE: Goddamnit!!! Now it's going after my forks!