Choosing items for use in your trendy new kitchen is an unnecessarily tedious task. My partner Maeko and I used up what felt like four hours (but was actually only two) looking at different types of spatulas (all of which looked the same to my untrained / unaware-of-types-of-spatula eyes). My head was feeling light, I was thirsty, and my vision had been reduced to a hazy blur, creating a tunnel-vision view of the Ikean surroundings.

Genii like me should have their own dedicated assistant working for a ridiculous wage to do this kind of laborious task for them. I’m an artist, and a fucking good one at that – I should get the respect I deserve in every aspect of my life, not just on the days I unveil my work in the art galleries. Monet would have laughed at the idea of shopping for spatulas, if the situation had arisen.

 

After choosing the perfect spatula for our modern, trendy kitchen, we moved on. We had spent our day picking out the cutlery, toaster, kettle, bread bin, waste bin, and the washing basin. Seeing as that wasn’t enough to satisfy Maeko’s kitchen accessory needs, we took it upon ourselves to purchase the chopping board, the pots, the pans, the cooling stand and the knife rack.

 

My tired, jaded eyes, focused on said knife rack. It stood out from the veritable sea of shite we had bought – not because it was in any way attractive, you understand, but because of what it held within. Made from an ugly, unimaginative block of wood, it had six slots, each of which were sized slightly differently for six differently sized knives (which were of course included). These were the objects that caught my eye.

Knives – the most useful of all kitchen utensils. A person would be lost without knives in the kitchen. Opening pre-packed meats, slicing onions, chopping celery, cutting bread. You’d have a hard time trying to perform those tasks without a knife. So many uses, just one object. Fuck the Swiss Army add-ons. The knife in its primitive form is just perfect as it is.

 

After spending far too long browsing through the bedroom section (that particular room in our house had already been decorated recently), we made our way home and unpacked the purchases of the day. We found appropriate yet supposedly stylish places for our kitchenalia without any enthusiasm on my part (this was more than made up for by Maeko, who was by now figuratively shitting herself with excitement). Dali’s enthusiasm would similarly have been lacking like mine, if he were faced with such a scenario.

 

I was glad to get to bed that night. There’s something about a day of dull shopping that tires a person out, especially when that day could easily have been reduced

to an hour, if we hadn’t dawdled like idiots. Just when I thought I was safe to close my eyes, Maeko spoke up.

“You seemed like you didn’t even want to be there with me today.” she said. I sighed.

“That would be down to the fact that I didn’t want to be there, wasting my day looking at knives and fucking forks.” I said. She sighed.

“Well would you rather we eat with our hands?”

“No, of course not. All I’m saying is...”

“What? What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that...I don’t know...”

Quite frustratingly, she interrupted. “You’re right! You don’t know! You don’t even have a point to make.”

I raised my voice slightly. “Actually, I do. Look...I’m an artist...a good one at that. I’ve been commissioned for several exhibitions, as you well know, and I’ve sold my work to plenty of people...artlovers, who know what they’re talking about - the ones who know talent when they see it.”

“So?”

“Well, what I’m saying is...is that I’m an artist – a genius even! I shouldn’t have to be dealing with such mundane tasks like shopping all fucking day!” I noticed that by the time that I had finished my sentence I was shouting.

My girlfriend counteracted my raised voice by stating calmly: “You’re not a genius, Sandeces. Einstein was a genius. You’re intelligent, aware of your surroundings, and very, very creative...but you’re definitely not a genius.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. I can’t stand for this shit.”

 

I got out of bed and stormed downstairs. Now even Maeko sounds like one of those uneducated art-critics I fucking despise – no idea what they’re talking about, don’t know talent when they see it. My own fucking girlfriend! How dare she! How dare she challenge me! How can she question such a glaringly obvious truth? I am a genius. Picasso wouldn’t have stood for something like this, should the drama have presented itself to him.

 

I took a deep breath to calm myself down. It didn’t work. I punched the hallway wall in anger and stepped into the kitchen. Even in the darkness, the room appeared to shine from all the metallic appliances and accessories we had showered it with.

 

I looked over the new utensils. I examined the wooden knife rack. I examined the knives. I removed the largest of them from the block. The most useful of all kitchen utensils.