Yesterday morning, I had this conversation:
“Baby, I need a knife and a cutting board if you have one.”
“I don’t think I have a cutting board; let me check. No, I don’t have a cutting board.”
“Is this the only knife you have?”
“You own ten guns and this is the only knife you have? What the hell, do you shoot your steak into small pieces?”
The knife in question, y’all, was a paring knife. With a blade that was maybe 2.5” long. The person I had this conversation with was my sweetie.
Is this one of the differences between women and men? I can’t even count the number of sharp, pointy knives in my house. They’re some damn fine knives, too. I have a whole set of knives where the handle and the blade are made out of the same piece of steel. I have a good quality Japanese chef’s knife that I bought in Hawaii before our household goods arrived because I needed a knife to cut things. My boyfriend has a pickup truck, a gun club membership, nicer furniture than I ever thought of having…and a gun-shaped bottle of tequila…but not one decent knife.
That’s OK, though. I ratted him out to his aunt and his mama. He’s probably going to have enough knives to pin a deer hide to the wall in the living room—right by the work bench—before the weekend is out.
I also know what I’m getting him for Christmas.