flatware

It has been proclaimed:

The flatware shall be mingled. (Das Besteck wird vermischt.)

As in, it shall be tolerated that Top-Mod & Top-Monk put their flatware in my flatware drawer and mine in theirs. Wherever I've lived in the past, we've put all the flatware in one drawer.

I hadn't even complained that my Brezelmesserchen, an ad freebie from a now-out-of-business former client, so often goes missing. Everybody loves that little knife. But why they can't just use their WMF and Solingen blades, I don't know.

Or maybe I do know, but gosh golly, leave my flatware alone. Something about highly functional cheapos inspires a fierce possessiveness you don't see when someone's paid good money for a brand name. Last year at a new client, the first time I brought my Vesperle down to the lab's break room, the head of the lab thought I'd stolen her knife. Her son's ex-gf had worked at the advertised company one summer, and when they broke up, she was relieved that the girl didn't ask for the knife back.

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