Soup Spoons

I forget the spoon usually. In the morning, packing my lunch, a frenzy of activity before leaving for work, things get forgotten. Not the spoon today.

Lunchtime. I open my bag: an apple, a bag of chips, a can of soup, a spoon. All set. Wait. No. Where’s my soup bowl? Sigh. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter.

I find a stack of paper bowls in the cabinet, crisis averted. I pour half of the Italian Wedding with Meatballs into a bowl, carry it to the microwave, and place it inside the electric box. As the seconds tick down, my bowl rotates and rotates, the yellow light softened by the film on the door.

Beep! Beep!

I open the door and a shallow pool of broth greets me. Should’ve used more than one paper bowl, genius.

Nothing paper towels and a quick rinse of the tray under running water can’t fix. Minutes later I eat, using the spoon I remembered to pack.


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