Both Mispel and Arena have pointed out that I haven't been completely honest in my description of the household fork situation. It seems that in addition to our one proper fork, we also have a couple of high table forks, the kind that are occasionally used for dabbing at caviar. In my two years of living in this house, no caviar has ever appeared to be dabbed at, so these dainty little forks are finding little usage. They're so small that using them can add an hour to the time it takes to eat a meal. They're so dainty that using a straw is more effective. This is true even for eating toast.

As a result, I felt justified in ignoring them, and feel confident that I've been honest in saying that we have only One Good Fork. And our One Good Fork is causing the house internal conflict and anguish. People use it and then fail to wash it, or fail to return it to the kitchen, or, in a more general way, just fail.

Enough is enough, I've decided. Earlier this morning I formed an executive committee to address the fork problem. After several hours of intense negotiation, I've decided that a military solution offers the fairest deal for everyone, but especially for me. Accordingly I've formed a one man vigilante army. I haven't had the time to go and buy some khaki and a helmet, but I've opened hostilities with a startling piece of military genius.

So hear ye, hear ye. From now on the fork will be kept in a secret location in my room. As of 12:45 hours today, Eastern Standard Time, I'm taking the fork hostage.