Kitchen Mayhem

As the last light in the Cookie Café was switched off and the door locked, the utensils stirred, each anxious to begin the night's activities.

“Psst,” whispered Spoon 1 from deep inside the drawer, “Spatula, is it safe to come out?”

“All clear,” replied Spatula, hopping from the utensil holder and flicking on the kitchen light.

Cautiously, the spoons, forks, and a pair of butter knives nudged the white wooden drawer until they all slipped out from the darkness. The kitchenware gathered around the marble center counter, preparing to take the standard inventory before their nightly festivities. But Land and Lakes Butter Knife franticly pushed through the crowd before the counting started.

“½ Cup,” Land stammered. “Little “O” Knife is missing.”

“Alright, Mr. Knife,” ½ Cup said calmly, “After we finish here, we will organize the Measuring Cup Police to search the premises.”

“Do you think the MCP will be able to find our little one before the sun rises?” Mrs. Lakes asked between sobs.

“We’ll do our best, Mrs.  Butter Knife,” ½ Cup reassured her.

 After ensuring everyone else was accounted for, ½ Cup assembled his MCPs.

“Ok, team,” ½ Cup announced to the MCP. “We are looking for Little “O.” You must step on it. We only have until dawn.”

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” The MCP said in unison before scattering throughout the kitchen, searching for Little O.

Meanwhile, Steve Serving Spoon spotted his long-time crush, Moet Champagne Glass, across the room. His heart raced at the sight of her, but his excitement faded when he noticed Willy the Whisk chatting with her. Florence Serving Fork, Steve’s best friend, approached him.

“You should go talk to her,” Florence urged.

“No,” Steve murmured, “What would I have to offer such a beautiful glistening glass? Moet is so perfect.” He sighed. “Plus, I would not know what to say.”

“Well…” Florence cleared her throat, “You can start by just saying ‘Hi’.”

Steve hesitated but then nodded. “Maybe you are right,” he said, taking a small step forward. “I think I will try it.”

Florence watched Steve inch towards Moet, her chest tightening with a feeling she couldn’t name. What is this feeling? The ache in her chest grew as she watched Steve get closer and closer to Moet.

“Oh dear,” she whispered.

In the meantime, the measuring cups continued their search for Little O.

“Reporting in, Sir!” shouted ¼ Cup and 1/3 Cup as they approached ½ Cup.

“Did you find anything?” ½ Cup sternly asked.

“Sir, there’s no sign of Little O in the China case, drain board, junk drawer, or garbage,” they replied.

“Has anyone checked the blender, dishwasher, or garbage disposal?” ½ Cup voice grumbled.

“No, Sir,” said 1/3 Cup.

“Well, do it!” ½ Cup shouted, frustrated with the incompetence of his patrol. “And make sure you also check behind the refrigerator and stove. Time is running out!”

“Yes, Sir.” The cups hurried off.

As they moved away, 1/3 Cup muttered, “Ever since we lost 1 Cup from the dishwasher mishap, ½ Cup has been unbearable. I miss 1 Cup,” He added. “She was a little more flexible and helpful.”

“Be careful what you say, 1/3. " ¼ Cup warned. “If ½ Cup hears you talking like that, you will be banished to the junk drawer. Plus, you never know something could be going on we don’t know about.”

“Maybe, but I am not the only one who thinks this way,” 1/3 cup added. “2/3 Cup and ¾ Cup are getting tired of his nastiness.”

 “You better keep it to yourself.” ¼ Cup whispered, eyeing ½ Cup from a distance.

“But, if you and 1/8 Cup join us, we could rid ourselves of this dictator. Look at him standing there, not lifting a handle to help.”

“I’m not sure,” ¼ Cup said, looking at ½ Cup. To her, he looked more like he carried the burden of the whole kitchen than that of some power-hungry MC.

“For now, let’s gather the MCPs and focus on finding Little O,” ¼ Cup suggested.”

“Ok,” 1/3 Cup answered, “But this is not over.”

Back at the counter, Steve finally reached Moet and found the courage to speak to her.

“Hey, Moet,” he whispered as Willy the Whisk rudely interrupted him.

“What do you want runt?” Willy asked as he put his arm around Moet.

“I-I just wanted to say hi.” Steve stammered

“Well, you just said it. Now beat it,” Willy snarled. “Moet and I are in the middle of something important.”

 Moet smiled at Steve, giving him the courage to continue. “How are you, Moet?”

“I’m fine, Steve,” Moet smiled again as she giggled.

Moet’s smile gave him a rush of confidence. This was his moment- before Willy could whisk her away forever.

           “Moet, I just wanted to tell you,” Steve took a deep breath, “I think you make the finest bubbles.”

           “What?!” Willy burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “The finest bubbles?! That’s all you’ve got?” He slapped his handle.

Steve could handle Willy's mockery—it was nothing new. But when he saw Moet laughing, too, his heart sank. Her laugh was not just a chuckle but a complete dead-on belly laugh. Feeling humiliated, Steve spun around quickly, tripping over his feet and falling face-first on the counter. The utensils on the counter erupted with laughter, except Florence, who began moving toward him. As Steve lifted his face off the counter, he saw her approaching. Her shiny, fork-like shape glistened in the kitchen light and her kind eyes.

“Oh,” Steve whispered, “Oh, wow.”

Meanwhile, the MCPs continued searching for the missing baby knife, but 1/3 Cup was momentarily distracted as he watched Steve fall.

“Did you see Steve just now?” 1/3 Cup snickered. “He fell flat on his face!”

“Is he okay?” ¼ Cup asked, glancing over at the loud laughter.

“Seems like it,” 1/3 Cup chuckled. “It was hilarious!”

“Focus!” ¼ Cup snapped. “Back to work.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” 1/3 Cup muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I will check the blender,” ¼ Cup stated, “You check the dishwasher and get some utensils to help you pry it open. I will join you shortly.”

“On it, Ma’am".

He gathered some other utensils to help open the dishwasher. As soon as it was open,1/3 Cup began searching the perimeter.

“Find anything?” ¼ Cup asked as she approached the dishwasher.

“Nothing. What should we do next?”

“Let’s check the garbage disposal,” ¼ Cup suggested.

“Good call, Ma’am,” 1/3 Cup agreed.

The other utensils, 1/3 Cup and ¼ Cup, reached the edge of the garbage disposal.

“We will need something to lower into the drain.” ¼ Cup commanded. “2/3 Cup, grab some string from the junk drawer.”

“On it, boss.” 2/3 Cup darted off with ¾ Cup to fetch the string. They returned, and Tablespoon and Teaspoon tied it securely to 2/3 Cup’s handle. As Tablespoon began to shimmy down the disposal, 2/3 cup lost his balance and tipped over.

“We need more weight!” 2/3 shouted. “Boss, we need all the MCPs, including ½ Cup. That should keep us stable.”

“I’m on it!” ¼ Cup announced.” She hurried back to the marble counter.

“½ Cup. We need everyone to make a stack. Tablespoon’s weight keeps tipping 2/3 cup, and we are trying to see if Little O fell down the disposal.

“Let’s do it,” ½ Cup said, “Do you have everyone there, ¼?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good Work,” complemented ½ Cup as they headed to the sink.

As soon as all the MCPs were at the garbage disposal, they stacked themselves, and Tablespoon made another attempt to shimmy down the drain.

           “Little O,” Tablespoon called into the darkness. “Are you down there?”

A faint, small voice replied, “Over here…”

           “I found him!” Tablespoon shouted as he assessed the situation. “Pull me up! Little O, hang on—I will be right back.”

“What’s Little O’s condition?” ½ Cup asked.

“He is wedged between blades in the disposal,” Tablespoon announced, “We need to pry the blades so he can get out.

½ Cup thought quickly. “We’ll need the handheld can openers to pry the blades apart. Chopper, notify Mr. and Mrs. Butter Knife. They will want to be there.”

“On it,” Chopper replied, rushing to get the Butter Knives.

In no time, everyone was assembled. The measuring cups were stacked again for more stability. They prepared to lower Tablespoon and Canny, the can opener, down the drain.

“Alright, everyone,” ½ Cup declared, “Let’s free Little O!”

Working together, it only took minutes before Little O and Tablespoon were hoisted from the garbage disposal. Canny followed soon after, and cheers erupted from around the sink. Little O had a few minor scratches, but otherwise, he would be ok.

“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Butter Knife said. She hugged each of the MCPs, Tablespoon, and Canny. You brought my little boy back. I will never forget this.”

With just minutes left before sunrise, the Butter Knife family returned to the drawer so Little O could rest.

As the kitchen fell into a calm, ½ Cup assembled his team of MCPs. “I just want you all to know how proud I am of each of you.” He began, “None of you knew this,” He paused momentarily and took a deep breath, “But 1 Cup and I were married. We kept it a secret. We planned on telling everyone, but then…the accident happened before we had a chance.” He swallowed hard. “Sorry if I have been a little harsh. I miss my 1 Cup; she was the love of my life. You can ask me anything tomorrow, but for now, you are dismissed. Get some rest.”

 ¼ Cup turned to 1/3 Cup, “See? There was more going on than we knew.”

“You are right,” 1/3 Cup said, glancing over at ½ Cup. “I should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.”

¼ Cup smiled, “So, I guess you can call off the mutiny?”

“Yes.” 1/3 cup gave a little chuckle. “Consider it called off.” They both smiled at each other.

“Hey, how about we walk back to the baker's drawer together?” ¼ Cup suggested. “I think we both need some rest.”

“You bet.” 1/3 Cup agreed, and they walked side by side toward the drawer.

“Fifteen-minute warning,” Spatula shouted. “Everyone, get back to your original spots!”

“Only fifteen minutes?” Steve thought, glancing at Florence, who was making her way toward him.

“Are you alright?” Florence asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “I just can’t believe Moet laughed at me. I thought she would take my side, but I was wrong. Willy and Moet are perfect together.”

“Ten minutes,” Spatula warned. “Steve, Florence, you’d better head back to the drawer.”

“We are on our way, Spatula."

As they walked, Steve couldn’t help but notice how radiant Florence looked. When they reached the drawer, Steve gently took her hands.

“Florence,” he began, “It’s always been you. Through all my crushes and mistakes, you’ve been there, accepting me for who I am, the good and the bad. I almost missed it. I have no right to ask this, but would you like to go on a date tomorrow night?”

Florence blushed and smiled, “Steve, I’d love that.”

Just then, the first rays of sunlight peered through the kitchen window. Steve and Florence slid back into the white wooden drawer, hand in hand, both eager for what tomorrow might bring.

“Thirty-second warning!” Spatula shouted, flicking off the kitchen light and hopping back into the utensil holder.