Knives.

We recently bought four new knives from Bed Bath and Beyond; a paring knife, a utility knife, a chef's knife, and a bread knife, all the J.A. Henckels brand. I really wanted to get a few nicer, sharper knives that I would actually use rather than spending the same amount on a full set of knives (most of which I don't need/use) that were more prone to dullness.

I was so excited that I finally got these knives (I've been dreaming about them since we began our gift registries) so when we got home, I immediately took them out of their package and held them up and gently touched their edges, admiring their fine craftsmanship.

I was so eager to make dinner that day and utilize the new knives, but then I realized I had nothing to chop and was thoroughly disappointed.

On Friday night we had Jonathan and two JBU friends over for dinner. I chopped up an onion for spaghetti sauce with the chef's knife and left the knife sitting on the counter when I finished. I was using my hand to brush some of the onion skin flakes and bread crumbs off the counter into the trash can and forgot the knife was there (well, maybe I just didn't think it would matter). My finger just barely grazed the edge and immediately I shouted, "Oh no, dang it, dang it! Jesse, I just cut myself!" I didn't know how bad it was cut, because I was just squeezing my finger as hard as I could, hoping to prevent, or at least delay the flow of blood from my finger.

As it turns out, the cut was very small and there was no harm done. It was a false alarm, but it definitely taught me to respect our new knives. Had I done the same thing with my mom's chef knife sitting on the counter, I think the grazing of my finger would have bumped the knife away, rather than causing the blade to slice through my flesh.

I think I may have learned my lesson a little too well, actually, as ever since then I've been almost too scared to use my own knives. In fact, I have what I call "day-meres" over them. We were driving back from Fayetteville on Saturday and all I could think about was those knives. I tried to get my mind off it and think about things like cows and flowers. . . until I realize that I chop up cows with knives and remembered that I've used knives to cut the stems off of flowers before putting them into a vase. . . which caused me to envision a slip of the hand and the severing of a finger.

The day-mere became worse and worse as I imagined my razor sharp knives being used as torture instruments. I couldn't keep my mind from imagining someone making small incisions all across my body - similar to paper cuts - and then dunking my body in lemon juice or rubbing salt into the wounds.

You know that feeling you get when you imagine nails against a chalk board? You know, that black chalkboard with white scribble across it? and a prom queen with freakishly long fake nails placing her hand on that board. . . and then digging her nails hard into the board and making a strong, slow, long motion downward. . . and the screeching sensation that rings and throbs in your ear drums?

Do you remember that feeling now? Well, that's how I felt the whole way home from Fayetteville. Seriously, the knives were torturing me without even touching me. . . my mind was so tormented.

but the knives have not won! I will tame them yet.