Sitting at dinner, waiting for our meal to arrive, Charlie raises his fork and knife and says, “In a battle, which one do you choose?”
Do you know how many times I’ve wondered this very thing myself?
Thousands.
At last I have someone to talk to about it.
This is one of the many things I love so much about my son:
He thinks like I do.
I expect this debate to continue for decades. Meal after meal, this choice will be discussed and debated. It will be joyous.
For the record, the knife was a serrated butter knife, and the fork was a standard, three-pronged affair.
Charlie chose fork. I chose butter knife. After much debate, we each held our ground.
For now.
