Thumper Thinks Out Loud

Very Very. Very. Very.

I have a spiffy pocket knife; it opens with the barest flick of a finger, and it's very very sharp. I have no real need for it, other than I like to carry it around in my pocket, because it's spiffy and very very sharp. I'm under no illusions about using it as protection; it opens fast and it's very very sharp, but the greater likelihood is that it would get taken from me and used to slice me into neat little ribbons of Thumper.

So I just carry around this totally rad, very very sharp knife for the hell of it.

But the other day I was in the bathroom. We have a free standing toilet paper holder, and for the seven months we've owned it there's been this tag hanging off of it. I don't know why it was left there, other than laziness. But I was sitting there and I spotted it and thought to myself, "I have a knife! I shall remove this hanging tag and it shall bother me no more!"

(Or "Why is that still there? Let's cut it off.")

So I whipped out my spiffy, very very sharp knife and flicked it open with one hand while I grabbed that dangling tag with the other, and sliced right through the plastic tie holding it in place like it was butter.

I probably should have stopped there.

And did I mention my spiffy knife is very, very sharp?

I cut that tag off like a champ, and in less time than it took to blink, sliced the blade right into my index finger. It surprised me, but didn't really hurt, so I thought I'd just taken a little off the top.

I closed the knife, put it back in my pocket...and then realized there was blood dripping from my finger. It welled up from a neat little slice near the joint, and dripped.

But it didn't hurt.

It just bled.

The Spouse Thingy is now threatening to take my spiffy knife away, but I really do love to carry it around and pretend I can use it to hunt large animals and gut wayward intruders, possibly at the same time. And who knows when I might happen upon a accident, where someone might need use of a very very shape knife to cut bedsheets into bandages or possibly run into someone who wants to slice an apple into tiny little rose blossoms?

It can be a very handy thing to carry around.

And I'm pretty sure the skin will grow back on my finger.

Spouse Thingy can't actually take it away, because really, who would take away a spiffy and very very sharp knife from a crazy lady who has no fear of flicking that sucker open and chopping parts of digits off?

I sure wouldn't.