“There is no Spoon.”

This morning Nitram and I are stumbling round the kitchen in an early morning fog. He has the teaspoon out of my reach and looks to be done with it, so I say:

“Spoon.”

He’s laughing. “Spoon! Spoooooon.”

“What. Gimme the goddam spoon.”

He’s still laughing and I tell him he’s missed his cue.

“My what?”

“You know — you’re supposed to say, ‘There is no Spoon.”

“Why am I supposed to say that?”

“Cos in Dog Soldiers, after Spoon gets eaten by the werewolf — but before he gets eaten he’s in its face saying, ‘I hope I give you the shits—’ but after that, when they get back into the kitchen and Cooper asks, “Where’s Spoon?’ the sergeant answers, ‘There is no Spoon.'”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How could you forget that movie! It was—” and I have to explain what seems like half the plot, while still trying to make my tea and get half-awake.

“Oh, okay. Okay…”

Christ on a crutch.

So tonight we’re talking on the phone and he starts teasing me about how I said “spoon” and I tease him back about missing his cue and he says, “Huh?”

I think my head is going to explode. “This is like déjà vu all over again, in Hell. I can see my life stretching before my eyes now: Your nose and ear hair will be eight inches long, you’ll have food all over your face, and I’ll be trying to figure out a final solution for both of us.”

“What! What?”

So I go through most of this morning’s conversation. Again. The only excuse Nitram can come up with is “but I was sleepy too.”

“Yeah, and I’ll have a good excuse when the police get here. ‘Oh, officer, he choked on his spoon.'”

I’ll just have to make sure there is a spoon.