Forks and Spoons

I suppose I am a little OCDC, and maybe I got it from my dad. He hated eating outside and never would drink from plastic or the abhorred aluminum glasses that were popular when I was a kid. For me, food MUST be salted before peppered in that order, and I can’t dress or bathe until the night’s bed is made first.

When we were first married, hubby and I used a gift of tableware received at the wedding. The utensils were sturdy beyond belief, but they were of such plain design they could have been steel rods with tines. My grandmother had given me a box of tableware before the wedding that was rather pretty, but it was much lighter weight. I put it back fearing it would never stand up to DH’s daily use. (In the beginning, he used spoons like shovels digging into cartons of hard ice cream bending spoons into yoga poses!)

Somewhere along the line I wanted a pretty set of silver for special occasions. I bought a moderately priced set of heavy and ornate food tools. The pieces are beautiful and do set a nice table, but of course, I never put them in the dishwasher so they only come out for the special meals they were intended for in the beginning. I also bought another set of table service after I grew so tired of our daily pieces. The new set was sturdy too but with a bit of a fan design on the handles.

Over the years, I trained DH to use an ice cream scoop, that forks shouldn’t be left on end tables after a snack, and knives were not to be hauled outside for any reason. The kids learned the same. A couple of years ago, I realized I still had the unused table service my grandmother gave me. It was not fancy; she had saved Betty Crocker coupons for years and filled a box with an eight place setting of silver plated service for me. The years had passed and I decided I’d better use it.

I love this service and I put it in the kitchen drawer with the other daily pieces. Now I had a drawer full of silverware and never ran short of a fork or a knife. However, I liked it so well I always wanted to use it over the other pieces on a simple meal or even a bowl of cereal for one. DH laughs at my peculiarity, the OC had reared its head again! If the wrong fork or spoon sits at my place, I have to change it out. I always want the pieces my grandmother gave me. I long for not only the look, but the feel of the fork in my hand, the right length, the right weight.

DH usually doesn’t care what fork he uses, but he too has met forks he didn’t like. His sisters gave his mother a set of pewter-like table service one year for Christmas. It was a colonial pattern and the forks had only three prongs which were longer than most. DH hated those prongs saying they stuck him in the throat with each bite, an over exaggeration I’m sure. He asked me to find an older fork somewhere if I set the table there.

Brush the teeth before the bath, drinking vessels on the table for meals always must be glass, bone china for tea if possible, always make sure the closet doors are completely closed and never ajar, put the left shoe on first, and a few other minor rituals make up the day. How about you?

Any OCDC behaviors in your life?