To quote Al Swearingen, “Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh.”
Many months ago, I got some awesome knives. Steak knives. I got them from the House of Knives. House of Knives sent them to me in exchange for an honest review. I was going to cut some steak with these steak knives and write about it. It was going to be fun. I was going to have a party. We would eat steak. I never have steak. It was going to be awesome. The steak knives, the steak, my friends, and a soon to be gout riddled me. Yeah.
I put the knives aside to wait until I had time to assemble my wonderful steak knife testing feast. I thought about the perfect time and occasion. I talked aloud to myself about the fun that would be had. I came up with several Alberta beef oriented jokes. We would look opulently hedonistic. And then…life.
Christmas comes around and we have all our family over to the new house. At dinner that evening I do a double take and see the knives out. They are out of their protective casing and safety rubber tippy things. I pull my wife aside.
“Hon…the knives. WTF?”
“They are too good not to use.”
“But my party thing.”
“I’ll put them back in the sleeves and such. It will be fine.”
“But your face!”
The knives kicked ass. They cut through turkey like angel lasers. Like something made well and you can feel it in them. They were decadent. And, after Christmas, E did as she promised. They were cleaned, contained, and sheathed. Back in their hearty box. Back on the shelf.
But there they sit and mock me. Me and my plans. I have not had any party. I have not had any meat fest. There they sit. Like owning a ghost horse but never taking it to frighten the villagers.
I’m not sure if E has used them since. Maybe she has these lavish parties behind my back. Parties where people come to our home wearing scarves and ascots and they bring fancy pets. The only for her company and the knives.
“Is Trent here?”
“Good, very good. Do you have the knives and meat which to use them on?”
“Is there room at the table for my capybara?”
“And…Trent is definitely not here?”
“Yes, he isn’t.”
“Winner winner, steak for dinner!”
I think the knives are getting to me. I can almost hear them cutting meat in the cupboard. I can hear laughter as well. Mouth fulls of succulent, well cut laughter. Sometimes I sneak up on the cupboard and listen. Listen so intently I can hear my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Then, I open the box to check on them. To see if they are still there. But there they are. Elegant. Resolute. Splendid.
But no, no I am fine. Hearken! Observe how healthily…how calmly I can tell you the whole story. Come on over, let me show you my House of Knives Stampede steak knives, bring your own meat.