Not The Sharpest Knife In The Door

"WHERE THE HELL IS MY KNIFE?", I beller at full volume. I am standing at my kitchen counter with home cured gravlox in front of me, it's perfectly succulant flesh anticipating the sharp thin edge of my fillet knife. The egg butter and rye bread await nearby. The Aquvit spicy and chilled in it's own block of ice.

I, having been banned from Hubbies almighty sacred special fillet knife, bought my own after numerous futile attempts of uncovering it's latest hiding spot. "Do you know how many fish this knife has been in?", Hubby would ask after catching me carving radish rosettes with it, and taking it from me. "But it is the sharpest knife we own!", I would protest. "Thirty thousand fish." "THIRTY THOUSAND FISH! If I only catch one hundred fish a year- for thirty years- that is how long I have had this knife.....Don't let me catch you using this knife on anything that wasn't swimming an hour ago." I then named his fillet knife, "Lover Blade", and would make kissy noises when it was around.

When he walked in on me unexpected, skinning chicken breasts with his Love Blade I retorted, "I'm NOT using your knife, who are you gonna believe, me or your lying eyes?" Didn't work.

The time he found me cutting candle wicking with it, I just stood and looked at him square in the eye and started taking off my clothes. Didn't work.

It was pure insanity that caused me to try to carve runes on my leather bustia with his Love Blade. Throwing myself to the floor and spasmaticaly twitching and convulsing, that didn't work either.

So when I finally broke down and bought my own very special knife I expected some respect. Honeys reaction was questionable. "What did you go and buy a knife for? You don't need a knife!"

After my screaming outburst I hear a yelp from the living room. Hubby comes slithering hurriedly into my kitchen to the sinkfull of dirty dishwater, were my knife had been left soaking in the filth. He tries his best to non-challantly reach in and by chance find my knife but I am right there.

"My knife!!!", I wailed, looking at it's cracked wooden handle. I am not screaming now, I am too sad.

"First of all", I start in a solemn kindergarten teacher voice, "you never leave a knife this sharp in a sink full of water were someone could of reached in and lose a finger." My husband nods in agreement with a guilty look on his woeful face. "Hot water is bad for keeping an edge on a knife, plus banging it on the metal sink." He gives another nod in agreement. "You never leave wood to soak in water without it cracking". "Yes", is all he has. "But, it's not the first time I have ever wrecked something of yours," is my goats reply, "why you act so surprised?"

*hubby is currently enjoying his gravlox shake through his feeding tube.*