Your Problem

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a honing steel at the airport sale. They sell off the stuff that is seized from people that for one reason or another thought it was okay to carry on to the plane. This particular thing looks like a police baton. I don’t think it would do a lot of damage, but they do have rules.

I’ve always wanted a honing steel so that I could do that cool thing with my knife just before attacking the turkey. Oh, I want to keep the knife sharp as well. There are numerous things that I would like to buy every month, but you only need so many pocket knives, bike tools and back packing stoves. Actually, I don’t believe there is an upper limit for stoves, but that’s just me. I have about nineteen now and I am always keeping my eyes open for interesting stoves. I might have a problem.

Tonight, I honed the knife in preparation for slicing one of those pesky onions. The knife cut through the onion like it was a soft vegetable. It also cut through the tip of my middle finger like it was a soft vegetable. I know that you are supposed to hold the food with curled fingers, but I was pretty excited and the knife needed some meat to cut. You know your knife is sharp when you see blood before you feel pain, which is just the way it happened to me.

I understand that this is my problem and you probably don’t care if I cut my arm off just below the elbow, unless I was publishing pictures. The point of mentioning it is that with the oversized “husband/man” bandage I am finding it difficult to type. Once again, it is my problem and not yours; however it does make me want to end this pretty quickly because I keep hitting the wrong keys.

Now, if you had your heart set on a wonderful, witty, well written, and wordy blog, you won’t get one tonight. That’s your problem not mine…