fresh toast is sitting on the table surrounded by a few crumbs, on top a white plate and the knife is barely capable of balancing itself in place the lady tries to move it to a more aesthetically pleasing state but alas, a knife is just a piece of metal you can't expect it to understand its name. "you want me to cut you want me to spread you want me to balance on butter. you want me washed you want me well-kept you want me used by another." "you can't expect her to know" says the fork as it coarsely whisks some eggs "after all she's just a lady and if she wants to stand, she has those things called Legs. and if you put yourself, for a moment, in her position you'd see it's not so simple to be her too. Look at that now, you see, she's crying as she holds me, what'd I tell you?" "You want me to be sweet you want me to spread you want me to balance on heels. You want me to clean you want me in bed you want me to forget how to feel." "you can't expect him to know" says her lady-friend as she twirls her nappy hair "after all he's just a man, just put yourself in his position, how do you think a man feels?" he must feel real "he must feel real"
and the knife "he must feel real" and the wife "he must feel real" Everyone agrees. The lady offers tea.