When I got married, I was asked, as most women are, how I was decorating my home. I had a simple, one word answer – functional. No magic color scheme that no one could understand. No cutesy little animals or stupid country ducks or anything like that. My only criterion was it had to be something that performed a necessary task. If it didn’t do something that needed to be done, then it didn’t need to be in my home. I have to say almost everyone followed this theory, except of course, one of those crazy relatives we all have hanging around the family tree for no good reason. You know the one, that guy or gal on the branch all alone who makes you want to grab the chain saw and just lop that sucker off really close to the trunk so there won’t even be a twig growing back to produce another one. We all have them.
Well, that relative struck again, this time in the form of a cheesy set of knives. I’m sure you’ve seen the commercials for them, the ones that are supposed to stay sharp even if you cut nails with them. The ones where the person cuts the nail and immediately turns and slices a tomato so thin you can read through it. Let’s all be honest here. I know I like to be able to taste the tomato when I eat it, so when will I ever need to cut one that thinly? And I have not spoken to my stomach directly mind you, but I have it on good authority from my tongue and throat that I’m not ready to eat metal shavings just yet. My teeth are waiting to see the size of the shavings, at which time they say they’ll get back to me as soon as possible.
Anyway, since this was the only real set of knives I had (yep, I said it and even I can’t believe I just said the word real about these things), I believed the box and gave them a shot. I didn’t even make it through the first potato before one broke. Who knew a potato was so much stronger than a nail? Maybe we should build houses out of french fries so they’ll stand up to anything Mother Nature can throw at them. I mean we’re talking about a knife that can cut through a nail, a beer can, a small tree limb, and the bone of a frozen chicken leg and still cuts that tomato into such lovely slices afterward. And then can’t make it halfway through one little potato. I’m pretty sure a french fry house could stand up to a hurricane. That is as long as the hurricane isn’t spitting rain in the form of cola.
I can see it now, instead of putting the kids in a closet with blankets and pillows or a good old fashioned mattress to pad them against a storm, we’ll just lay them down in the bathtub and cover them with potatoes and they’ll be fine. If that knife couldn’t break through a single potato, if a wall just happens to fall on them, surely a ton of bricks and mortar won’t possibly make a dent in a whole wall of the things. Just remember to give each kid their own straw to breathe through.
What is the world coming to when a simple potato can beat the greatest knife on the planet? Seriously, I almost lost all faith in knives. How could someone do this to me? How could they give me a raggedy set of knives parading around tooting their own horn of greatness on one of the most important days of my life? We’re having dice fried potatoes for supper. I’m going to get the chain saw.