The safe knife

JB loves his cooking knives. They are knives that he saved for. Knives that he would go to William & Sonoma and nearly drool over time and time again. Knives that I finally told him to buy so that the sales people at W & S would be able to stop having to unlock their cabinet for him every time we were at Destin Commons when we lived in Eglin.

JB brought said-knives to Pop's Leather in "The Alley" to have them make him a custom knife carrying case so he could cook at other people's houses with the correct tools. But life is busy. And we have no vehicle right now. The project halted.

Our good friend Shane decided to finish getting the case made. He called me and asked if he could borrow one of JB's knives to take with him to Pop's to make sure sizes were correct.

Shane and I planned it as well as we could. JB uses his knives all the time. He would definitely know if one was missing. So we did it on an afternoon that we were going over to dinner at Shane & Linda's so JB wouldn't need to cook. Then we planned on him bringing the kinfe back the next day as soon as JB left for work.

Only Shane and I couldn't have predicted JB would decide to make some huge veggie omlette the next morning that would require his knife.

So JB is making this omlette with broccoli in it this morning. I hear him starting to open cabinets. I hide in the other room, face tucked away behind my laptop. I know what is coming. He can't find the knife.

He all of a sudden says, "Wendi, I can't find my big knife." I ignore him. "Wendi, do you think it is under all these dishes in the sink?" I ignore him again.

John: "Wendi?" Now he is standing in the doorway between the kitchen and where I am typing. I must answer him. My mind searches for an explanation that would be plausible.

I can find none.

"Wendi, do you think it might be under all the dishes in the sink?" Soaking his knife is a big no-no. So, no, there is no chance I would have let that happen.

Me: "No."

JB: "Where is it then?"

Me: "I don't know."

JB: Starts opening every drawer, every cabinet. "I can't find it."

Me: "I know."

JB: "Wendi, where is it?'

And here is where my brilliance comes into play.

Me: "Could you just not ask me?"

JB: "Huh?"

Me: "Just don't ask, okay?

JB: "Just tell me my knife is okay."

Me: "It's okay."

JB:"Okay."

Later that night Shane would bring the gift and all was well with the world again. Leave it to me to decide the best excuse I can muster is no excuse at all. But how do you defend a missing cooking knife? And a big one at that? I leant it to a friend? I would never had done that. It's just plain missing? With three little kids that would mean a manhunt must ensue.

So I tell him just not to ask.

And like any husband of fourteen years would know to do, he simply just says, "Okay." Okay, as long as his knife is safe.