Butter knife? Or sword?

   

From the time he was old enough to reach the drawer, Graham’s job was to unload the silverware from the dishwasher and put it away.

At one point in time, I had given him a reprieve from this task. His dad had not gotten the memo, however. Facing a full dishwasher, Robert called Graham over. “Graham, could you please empty the silverw…”

Robert was interrupted by my groan, “Nooooooooooooooooo! Don’t ask him to do that!!”

Confused, Robert looked to me, but I didn’t have to explain…

Immediately, two butter knives started clinking together madly behind him as Graham’s voice rang out loudly, “Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father. Prepare to die! Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father. Prepare to die! Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father. Prepare to die!…”

“Yeah,” I said, “you can’t make him do that right now.”