Why in Trouble?

I had a pretty productive day. Worked (huzzah for money), took a quick walk at a park and snapped some photos, made lunch, did the dishes (piled up for 2 days now), defrosted chicken for dinner, washed, folded, and put away 2 loads of Sir's laundry, did my own laundry, reorganized the bathroom cabinet, fixed the bedroom blinds, unpacked a little bit more, put some things up for sale on Craigslist...

I was feeling pretty good with myself.

I hear Sir come in just as I'm finishing up my Craigslist ad. He turns down the radio (as he does every day).

I exclaim, "If you're going to turn it down that low, you can just turn it off!"

He comes in the room and quietly says, "Bitch, on your knees."

It's like a switch goes off in my brain. I am apprehensive, and feeling entirely in my place. But I am a little bit panicked. I am in trouble. I know this. But what for?

Apparently it was not for my comment about the radio.

It was also not for giving Sir a whole apple for lunch (I usually slice them so its easier for him).

He asks me to tell him what I packed him for lunch.

It is actually hard for me to remember, even though I got up early this morning to do it, since I didn't make time last night (we went out to a munch).

A pot pie..... pudding..... peach iced tea..... a protein bar.... What else? What else? Something is missing.

An apple! I didn't slice it though-- But he tells me that's not it either. What am I missing?

It finally dawns on me.

A fork. And a spoon. How can Sir eat his pudding without a spoon? How can he eat his pie without a fork?

I try to get myself out of trouble.

"Sir, making your lunch was never an official rule or duty. It's just something I started doing, and now do everyday."

"Your work has forks and spoons there, you told me! You said that if I forgot, it was okay because there were utensils there!"

Sir takes this into consideration as I remain kneeling. He decides that for tonights meal, I am to eat with only a fork. No knife or spoon. I may have a plate, but its more for keeping the apartment tidy than being gracious to me.

I tell him that if he wants me to not have a plate, he could make me eat off something else. Like a cutting board. Now I think that perhaps he could have made me eat from a bowl, sitting on the floor. Whether or not that included the fork would be up to him. Or just what he decides I may have, sitting below him. Our kitchen table is actually very tall, and we use barstools, so it would be and added level of power there.

But I digress. I ate dinner with just a fork. The vegetables weren't so bad. The meat was another story. I  made chicken parmigiana. I also made angel hair pasta, which was okay. But the chicken I ate tearing off bites from the big hunk I was able to get my fork into.

I am totally grateful that I was allowed a fork at all. I could have had to eat with my hands, or just using my mouth. Or not at all.

You can be sure that Sir has a fork, spoon, and knife packed for his lunch for tomorrow!