Below the sign of stupid

I hate to do this, we all do, but I must claim my place below the sign of "STUPID!"

You see, I was trying to be nice to my dearly beloved while she was knitting away and struggling with the effects of steriods. Making lunch, I was cutting a smoked chicken breast to go in stir-fry - at least our lower fat version. So where does stupid come in? I was holding the chicken with my hand, not a fork; those new knives our son and his wife gave us are very sharp, and I have a left thumb minus a tiny slice to prove it.

No, I didn't cut deeply, but when I trimmed off the flap I'd sliced, I have a cute little red spot at about 10 o'clock if you hold your thumb up and look at the nail as a clock face. It was annoying, both for the loss of feeling with a band-aid on and for that flashing sign in my mind - STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!

But at least I know the knives are still sharp - and that's a plus, right?

Trust me, I was a lot more careful when I cubed a partially frozen block of smoked ground venison - there's that sign again! - holding it with my hand again. This time I kept the knife well away from the hand, and both dishes were quite good, thank you very much! But I can't say I really put myself in the meal, because it wasn't that bad.

So, to all you would be chefs who read this, avoid the sign! Keep those sharp knives out of the hands of people standing under the sign! And I'll try to learn my lesson as well. Justin, though you have some years before this is a worry, learn from your grandpa and DON'T use knives like I did! I'll carry the scars for both of us, my grandson! (Yes, I'm grinning as I write, and, yes, Dad, I hear you telling me to be careful around knives!)

Peace!