A: fuck
A: i just broke my spatula
Me: Damn. That was careless of you.
A: it got bent one time too many
A: inevitable, given the work involved.
Me: So it's given up in disgust. Can't say I blame it.
A: you always take its side.
A: i have just found another spatula
Me: I feel a special bond with the spatula? (I could probably spout a suitable feminist diatribe here, but it's late and I'm tired)
Me: You fickle thing.
A: i think tnat thisone is made of tougher stuff
A: oooh
A: feel that raw power, extract.
Me: oooh?
Me: You show it who's boss.
A: i can feel it bending, but at least there is more resistance
Me: But the life of a spatula is a transient, fleeting thing, and all too soon it too will succumb to the desire to break itself apart to escape it's daily torment.
A: yeah