Fork You

Just like church, the dining room pretty much sees the same people sitting in the same places every day. There are no assigned seats here. Which I (perhaps mistakenly) tell each new Resident who moves in.

So New Resident decides to sit at "Maude's Table." Let me reiterate...THERE ARE NO ASSIGNED SEATS. There are no assigned tables. First come, first served. Sit wherever the hell you want. That kind of thing.

So, New Resident takes a seat. Maude comes to the table and proceeds to have a hissy fit that any two-year-old who wants candy at the check-out lane of the grocery store would admire. I try to calm Maude down, explaining that this is New Resident's first day here, and let's try to make her feel welcome, yadda yadda yadda, while pulling out a chair adjacent to New Resident for Maude to take a seat. Which she does.

Then, with as much hate as a pissed off 98-year-old white-haired lady can muster, she picks up her fork. She looks right at me. And sends the fork flying right at my head.