(Read with the tune of the “Dragnet” theme song in the background.)
I know how the inmates in a mental institution feel just before the take down. It happened Tuesday night. I could sense someone moving in on both sides of me. A shadow fell across the work I was doing. Innocent work with a really sharp Cutco knife.
You know, the ones that are advertised to last for a lifetime, and they do too. The scissors are demonstrated by cutting a penny in half and mine still will, even though they are about fifteen years old. This sharpness is recommended for cutting bones in half, bones of chickens and ribs of beef or pork, not fingers of people. Once I tried the knife on my finger, quite by accident. It didn’t actually cut the bone, but then I cheated and moved my finger when I felt the blade, so it didn’t have a chance, really. However, ever since that incident which took me to the emergency room in the middle of my son's 18th birthday party, the men in my family turn into lurking bodyguards whenever I pick up a sharp knife.
So I have this very sharp knife in one hand, a knife with a record. With the other hand I’m holding this little plastic gadget. I’m only cleaning out the veggie fragments from between the plastic squares on this little plastic dicer…with the sharp knife.
Just as I sense the presence of two men, one on either side, I look at my fingers in relationship to the sharp knife. And realize that they are coming to protect me from that villain of a knife. My fingers are in danger from that darn knife.
My imagination can see the men exchanging glances. You know the look, one nods at the hand holding the offending knife, the other responds with a nod in turn. Then one of them mouths, “on my count: one,”
But before he can finish, I laugh, and say, “I'd better get something not so sharp to clean this before I slice off a finger."
My son says, “Good idea mom. I think a butter knife would work better,” and backs away, while his father looks relieved and turns back to his task of wiping down the counters.
Yep. They were about to tackle that knife. Might not have been pretty!
And today, I'm thankful for a loving husband and children. And for granddaughters who like to cuddle and read me books -- even while I'm posting a blog!