the fork.

There's one thing that needs to be understood right now: I have a tendency to be possessive. Of objects. Not people. That'd be creepy.

Another thing to know: I have a particular fork that I use to eat. It is noticeably different from the other forks, which are clearly part of a set. I feel awkward when I eat with any fork other than my fork. 

SHE ATE WITH MY FORK.

But I stopped her.

There I was digging around the drawer for my fork. Digging in the little thing that holds utensils after they've been cleaned by the sink. And then the almost anxiety. Because if it were full-on anxiety over a fork, I would just have give up on life. Bottom line: I needed. my. fork. So I ask aloud, "Where is my fork?"

"What...this one?" And there it is. In her hand. ALREADY BEEN USED. UGH.

"But it's just like all the others."

NO. NO IT'S NOT.

It has a different look. The prongs are thicker. It's heavier. It's totally different! I know because I held up my fork and a regular fork, and I was told that yes, they are totally different!

Unbelievable. She looked at me like I was fucking insane. I already gave her my room, some of my closet, and now she think I'll let her take my fork. No. No no no. I don't think so.

So that's that. She never used it again. And if I catch her with it, I will fucking lose.