I’ve known for a while that I need to take my knives to be sharpened. They’re just not doing the kitchen job as well as they should. My procrastination is due to a couple of reasons. First, I’ve just not done it. Call me lazy if you want, but other stuff has taken precedent. And second, the best knife-sharpening-dude I know of is in Santa Monica and that’s a trek.
But I’m gonna have to break down and take care of this sharpening bid-ness, y’all, because one of my knives jumped the food track this week and landed on my finger. My first response was to look for the severed digit. When I realized that I had not cut all the way through and had only wounded myself, I let loose a tremendous sigh of relief. Then I quietly made my way to the bathroom and bandaged my pitiful wittle finguh. (I was quiet about it so as not to scare the cotton out of Mister.) I finished making dinner and all was fine.
That injury could have been a lot worse, but my knives are too danged dull to cut much of anything. So today I have an appointment and I’ll be making my way to the knife dude. I am way too excited.