Fork Night

"No, it's just impossible."

I turned my face away from the pasta I had been about to put in my mouth.
"There are only two weeks left until Christmas Eve..."
She left, looking dejected.
The cold pasta, me, and that thing were left behind in the room.

◆

I have been afraid of dinner forks since I was a child.
Those long, sharp tines. It gives me the chills to put them in my own mouth.
When I confessed this to my first girlfriend, her expression changed.

"We are definitely eating Italian in Aoyama on Christmas Eve!"


Since then, the struggle has continued every day, but my fear hasn't improved at all. I want to make her dream of having dinner at her favorite restaurant on Christmas Eve come true.
Staring at the fork I had tossed aside, I groaned.

God, what should I do?

◆

The waiter keeps glancing at us. I don't really care.
"Hey, is it good?"
"It's the best!"
Her face is glowing.

"Okay, say ah."

We gently feed each other forks topped with exquisite pasta.
By doing this, the fear is halved, and the deliciousness is doubled.

The way to overcome it was something very simple.
On that holy night, the god of forks descended upon us.