For those of you living sheltered, unchallenging lives, do not fear! For tho' the following thoughts may seem harrowing, I have passed twixt the eye of the needle and emerged. And all that was hurt was a $1.78 can of jellied cranberry sauce.
That was Jeff. OK, here is what happened: Last week, Jeff decided to make roast chicken with stuffing and cranberry sauce. He bought all of the ingredients and was in the midst of cooking dinner when we realized that the can opener was missing. Why? Because I had left it at work, for one of my do-it-yourself can of soup lunch banquets.
Jeff suggested that we do without the cranberry sauce, but it is his FAVORITE. Plus, I knew that I could get the can open with some gumption and disregard for personal safety.
Gumption, maybe. Motor skills, maybe not. My lady determined that we would have cranberry sauce and the lack of basic tools, much like our distant cro-magnon relatives bashing a rock against a deer carcass, would not deter her.
Um, what-EVS. Check it:
Hammer+screw+screwdriver=can opener. Sort of. It took about 45 minutes.
Here we see why Una is not a surgeon.
Fuck YOU. I watch ER and Gray's Anatomy. Oh, and Nip/Tuck. And we needed some sauce, stat.
That poor, violated can. I wish I could say that all of this effort could make us harken back to frontier ancestors and make our dinner taste all the sweeter. Unfortunately, the dirty tools made it taste like we were eating loose change.
A little bit of aluminum never hurt anyone. And besides, it all turned out OK. See?
You could say it looks like a gaping wound, but you could also say it looks like love.