Salad tongs. What a glorious thing.
Created one steamy night in which Mr. Fork crept secretly over to the forbidden spoon tray to have a rendezvous with Miss Spoon.
Not one, but two offspring were the result. Siamese twins conjoined at the hip. Rounded like a spoon, yet forked on the end, they are the perfect blend of their parents.
The Doctors said to cast them aside. Their deformity would never allow them to be accepted into society, being neither spoon nor fork. They couldn't have been more wrong, for these two humble sporks exceeded all expectations by becoming something that no other could. The salad tongs.
I went to my sister's house for a barbecue. Her artistic salad waited for the first hungry person to come and try its delights. As I made my way towards it, it seemed to ruffle its lettuce leaves proudly like a peacock on display. I stopped suddenly all color draining from my face as I looked in horror at her so called “salad”. Two spoons lay in the salad, tarnishing it's beauty, much like a large zit on a model's nose.
“Where are the salad tongs?” I managed to squeak out, my voice betraying my inner turmoil.
My sister only shrugged as if to say, “Don't know, don't care.”
I gripped a nearby chair for support as the room lurched beneath my feet. How could my own sister, my own flesh and blood be so uncaring, so unfeeling, so DEAD inside.
You may be asking yourself, “What do salad tongs have to do with anything?”
Well, the answer is:
I would like to take those salad tongs and RIP MY BACK OUT!!!!

I wrote that about 6 months prior to my disk replacement surgery. Now, I am the BIONIC WOMAN. All should fear me.