Over the course of February I settled into a tolerable, but unrelenting training load. When did I realize this? When I reached for spoons mid-week and found none. When I started dishwasher loads comprised entirely of spoons and bowls.
Turns out my training load is inversely proportional to the number of bowls in my cabinets and spoons in my silverware drawer. You could steal most of my knives and I wouldn't notice. I use perhaps one or two forks a week. But spoons, my beloved spoons, are the workhorse of my kitchen.
And bowls. What cannot be eaten out of a bowl? If such a food unicorn exists, it apparently doesn't get made in my kitchen.
Unfortunately, like hotdogs and hotdog buns, my spoons and bowls are available in uneven quantities. At a particularly low point I drank chunky soup out of my last clean bowl. Just one more spoon...