This post is based solely on the movie name of “Knives Out,” per direction from the fabulous Linda G. Hill.
Have I ever told you of my relationship with knives?
I love using knives. They make cooking much easier – slicing instead of pounding with a rock or tearing with my teeth.
Knives, on the other hand, don’t always love me back.
Take, for instance, the time many years ago when a bread knife decided to take a journey off the brat bun and across my left forefinger while entertaining guests. Severely and deeply. Don’t know why the knife did this (perhaps because tanned flesh is similar in color to baked wheat), but the result was bloody.
While the male members of our dinner party stayed home and held down the fort with adult refreshment and a pang of hunger, the girlfriend and angry knife victim went to the emergency room. I explained to the ER doctor that I didn’t know the cause of the bread knife attack and it was embarrassing that I let an inanimate object get the best of me. “No worries,” said the doc, “We’ll get you stitched up and on your way.”
Perhaps the doctor had no worries, but I had to eventually go home to a drawer filled with steely terrorists.
The girlfriend and I made it back to the men a few hours later, the left forefinger stitched and securely wrapped…but not before the nurse decided I needed a tetanus shot in the right arm to add insult to injury. I often wonder why she didn’t give the shot in the left arm because if I’m going to be temporarily disabled, let half of me be okay.
The next day, as I walked through the mall, finger throbbing and pointing at everyone I passed, I tried to adjust the purse that was slung over the sore right arm. I don’t remember what made me venture out to the mall in this condition, but it was a bad choice. On one hand, I was safe from knife attacks. On the other hand, it was painful to open the wallet and pay for anything that would make me feel better. I believe I went home empty-handed as the thought of carrying another bag full of stuff made me cringe.
After this excursion into the hellfire of when knives attack, things changed a bit at home. I still used knives…carefully…but the “then husband” remained uneasy. If he saw me with a knife in my hand, he would take it from me and finish slicing or dicing whatever was on the cutting board. It was a chivalrous thing to do, although I suspect that using a knife was easier for him than waiting forever in the ER waiting room while they sewed on the tip of whatever finger would fall victim to the next offensive strike.
It’s now years later and the knives in my life seem to have calmed their warring minds. There has been no recent blood-letting incident and no need for a husband to cover while I run the gauntlet of food preparation. That awful bread knife is in a landfill somewhere, buried so that it will never again inflict harm to a forefinger. The current set of tools in the kitchen have been respectful and kind, but I continue to be on watch for any fledgling signs of malice. Only one bread knife exists in the kitchen, but I don’t have a reason to use it. It tries to taunt me out of respect for its buried bretheren, but I pay no mind. (I don’t eat bread, stupid.)
I have other battles to fight, hopefully none of which require a visit to the ER.
I prefer to go to the mall and shop, not to point at strangers.
Stream of Consciousness Saturday is the brainchild of author Linda G. Hill. Every Friday, Linda provides her followers with an inspiring blogger’s prompt. It can be a word or words and sometimes bonus points are involved (my favorite). Linda asks us to write without editing, other than correcting spelling errors.
Just go with the flow.
Like a babbling brook or rain drops. Click HERE if this type of writing floats your boat or helps with your decision-making. Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “movie title.” Take the title of the last movie you watched (just the title, not the premise of the movie), and base your post on that title. Have fun!