The Cold Steel Sting of Monday

Today was a Monday. As far as Mondays go, it wasn’t too bad. But a Monday is a Monday, and so to dull the pain I made brownies for desert tonight. Brownies don’t solve all Monday’s problems or make Monday’s bitterness dissolve, but they’re a good start, and second only to beer on the “oh, god, not Monday” registry of consumables known to hasten the transition to Tuesday. When the timer sounded, I removed the yummies from the oven to test for doneness. I normally do this with a butter knife, but I didn’t have one. We were also down to just two forks, which we would need for dinner, so I opted for a steak knife.

Rewind to Christmas.

For Christmas our friends Sakshi and Tamy sent Ryan a really really nice set of knives. In the world of cutlery, “really really nice” translates into “holy carp that’s sharp!” (I rhymed there, ya like that?) Anyway, what does one typically do after piercing the warm, chocolaty brownie with the butter knife? If you said, “lick the butter knife” you’d be correct. And that’s just what I did, only this wasn’t a butter knife, it was a really really sharp steak knife. I’ve never in my whole life used such sharp knives. (I bet you can tell where this is going…)

So yes, I cut my lips, both upper and lower, while licking brownie off the knife. The bottom lip is barely scrapped, but the top one was a bleeder. For the rest of the night the sting of Monday more than just an intangible feeling, it was an earnest, burning sting with every spoonful of salty soup that was our dinner.

Next Monday I’m sticking to beer. I think it’s safer.