Crunchy ‘Nanas

It takes a highly discerning ear to know when to panic in my house.

This morning I sat on the couch performing my cereal, email and Google reader routine. (If you thought email was an easy way to lose an hour to the Internet time-suck, just add a couple blogs onto your reader.) I heard my father chopping something in the kitchen. Chop. Chop. Chop. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

“*^&%$$#!”

Silence.

“Are you all right?” I sit alert, waiting for a reply. I picture a slice off the tip of my Dad’s finger laying neatly severed on the chopping board. I feel the sting. Today’s the day we find out if Kaiser will pay out for a trip to an emergency room in England. What are you supposed to do with severed limbs? Put them in milk? Or is that just teeth? Actually, I’m not sure I am ready for the answer to my question. To witness the so far hypothetical pain.

“I dropped a strawberry.”

Breathe in, quiet alarms bells, back to the news and blogs. I should have known there was no need for concern. I am my father’s daughter. I do this too. A lot. Always while chopping or peeling. A few nights ago it was the stupid carrots. Last week it was the dumb potatoes. That takes the cake. I’m peeling a potato and it slips out of my grip, past the point of rescue, into the raw chicken packaging in the garbage can. As far as I’m concerned, it’s found its new home at the salmonella hotel. But, it annoys me to see the waste. It happens way too much. Please someone tell me, is there a gadget that will hold my potato while I peel it? I don’t even care if it’s got a Pampered Chef or Williams Sonoma price tag. It might calm the cooking rage I feel all too often.

Don’t worry mom, I’ll send Dad home to you on Monday in one piece.

This entry was posted on Friday, 20th April 2007 at  12:27 and is filed under Random foliage. You can follow responses to this entry using the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.