Cuts Like a Knife

My day started with a slice, but it was not nice. I reached for a paring knife for this morning's lunch-making routine, and a new, shiny one called out from the butcher block, "Notice me!" Ah, I suddenly realized, my husband replaced the one with the chipped point. I barely mourned the loss of my old, trusty friend who peeled sticky skins off of garlic cloves and split summer plums for years.

The young, sharp-tipped knife and I had barely met when I entrusted it with my avocado today. At first, I was enticed by the magic. The blade pierced the skin and sank into the fruit's flesh like liquid hot magma, so I confidently flung it into the pit. The motion was a familiar one, but this time, the knife slipped off the round, slick surface and landed directly into the flesh of my thumb. Done. I stuffed a paper towel wad into a bandaid, ignored the throbbing, and still managed to pack a turkey-avocado wrap for lunch.

I forgive quickly. I'm also a sucker for shiny things.

When it was time to prepare supper, I entrusted the culprit to the garlic, shallots, sugar snaps, and ginger. We slivered and diced an enviable array for any stir fry. We worked together in perfect synchrony, but we didn't even mention what happened this morning.

Talking it out wouldn't have helped. This case needed a little time, finesse, and some fresh ingredients. Trust is not entirely restored in the new kid on the block, but we're doing the best we can. That's what counts.