Has become a metaphor for my life.
The smell of opportunity that sits as a cruise-ship-buffet spread before me causes the salivary glands to sweat, but when the delicious food of reality enters my mouth all I can think about is the bent tine of the fork.
Something's just not quite right.
And it shouldn't matter that it is not perfect, there's no blacksmith to bother to correct the minor bend, there is really nothing to do other than toss the fork away or decide that it is acceptable to ignore. Well, I could always be sure that someone else eats with that particular fork and glance around during dinner parties to see if the bent tine holder is using the moment of distracted succulence to ponder the trajectory of their life.
The smell of opportunity that sits as a cruise-ship-buffet spread before me causes the salivary glands to sweat, but when the delicious food of reality enters my mouth all I can think about is the bent tine of the fork.
Something's just not quite right.
And it shouldn't matter that it is not perfect, there's no blacksmith to bother to correct the minor bend, there is really nothing to do other than toss the fork away or decide that it is acceptable to ignore. Well, I could always be sure that someone else eats with that particular fork and glance around during dinner parties to see if the bent tine holder is using the moment of distracted succulence to ponder the trajectory of their life.
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