Fork Etiquette

At an unromantic three-way dinner date last night, I was stricken with momentary panic when my chicken salad arrived and two forks lay beside my left hand. The outer fork was weak, like the stumpy hand of an infant. The inner fork, however, was strong--one Poseidon would call his own.

Instantly I looked up. "Which fork do I use?"
Four deadpan eyes retorted, "The small one!" as if I were an utter dinner table imbecile.

Scanning my salad plate, I analyzed my very large chunks of breaded chicken and cucumber slices longer than my ring finger. Again, I glanced as the measly outer fork, the "salad fork," which now, after perusing my very hearty salad seemed to have grown even smaller.

Now who, I wondered would be conniving and cruel enough to create a fork the would insufficiently transfer nourishment from my plate to my tummy. I realized it was my moment to say "Fork You" to the establishment and the inventor of the salad fork. I took a deep breath, inhaling the spice of the jalapeno ranch dressing, and picked up the big fork--the dinner fork.

While Martha my cringe at my fork etiquette faux pas, I say if the fork fits, use it.