Talk of kitchen knives brings to mind a back-in-the-day story.
It was a hot afternoon in Kentucky and I had spent a grueling day of training at Fort Knox. I jumped in my hot car (without AC) for the slow commute up the Dixie Death Way to Louisville where our apartment was and my new bride.
Being very hungry I was looking forward a big fried chicken meal, because my bride said we were going to have fried chicken that night.
As I entered the front door, I didn't smell chicken frying -
I looked on the kitchen counter and there sat a whole, raw chicken -
My bride said that she bought a whole chicken instead of a cut up chicken and didn't know how to cut it up.
Of course the Army-Infantry training in me erupted and I whipped out my bayonet and chopped that chicken into indistinguishable pieces and barked at her - NOW cook it!
(PS - that was my first wife)
THE END