About a Knife

Hick and I had a discussion of Christmas gifts on Sunday. That's unusual, because the chore of choosing, procuring, and wrapping always falls on me. Hick's job is to pack the gifts in the car, and carry them in for distribution to assorted relatives. It didn't take me long to figure out Hick's newfound interest.

"I have some things in my store that will make good gifts for the guys."

"Maybe. You know I always get them some kind of gadget. They can carry it in their pocket a while, then lose it, because they know they'll get a similar gadget next Christmas."

"I have some knives. Them ones I got at Walmart for $5 each. They're about a $22 knife."

"I'll have to look at them. How much profit are you planning to make?"

"I can sell them to you for what I got in them. I have them sets with a Bowie knife and a pocket knife, and I have some hunting knives with the sheath, for the ones who hunt."

"Okay. I'll have to see them first."

"I'll stop by my Storage Unit tomorrow, and bring them home."

Monday evening, Hick had a display set up on the coffee table.

"Here, you can sit in my chair. I'll bring them over for you to look at."

Heh, heh. Hick was like a bridal shop owner, parading out his wares for me to approve and choose. I'm surprised he didn't serve me cucumber sandwiches and a beverage in stemmed glassware.

Of course I had to inspect each one, as we determined who it was best suited for. There are seven dudes to arm with knives. Which don't include Genius and The Pony, who are too highbrow for such practical implements.

Each hunting knife was a little different. Wooden handle or bone/antler material. Serrated edge or smooth or both. Nylon sheath or leather-look. As you might imagine, Val is no knife connoisseur. The Pioneer Woman Ceramic Knives are the extent of my repertoire.

I was in the middle of liberating a hunting knife from a black nylon sheath.

"Val. You have to unsnap that little strap."

"I know that! I couldn't get it loose. This knife is so big!"

I pulled it out of the sheath, the blade covered in plastic wrap. These are new knives, not used. I marveled at how it had a slicing blade, yet the back of it was serrated. And even looked like it had a bottle opener notch.

"Cool. Is this a saw, too? With a bottle opener?"

"Probably more for cutting through bone. And that could be a bottle opener."

"OUCH!"

Yes. After her ridiculing chiding of Hick for (allegedly) cutting his finger on T-Hoe's flaking aluminum-look plastic door handle, karma came back to nip Val on the thumb.

As I was turning that knife over, marveling at the saw part, my thumb brushed against the slicing blade, which had cut through the plastic bag protecting it.

"It's a KNIFE, silly! What did you expect?"

"I thought it was wrapped in plastic! But the blade cut the plastic."

"It's sharp!"

"I know!"

Let the record show that I didn't suck on my thumb to draw the blood out for sympathy. No blood. Just a little flap of skin shaved away.

I didn't say another word about it. Val is no crybaby.