Knife to Meet You

My dad once gave me possibly the most important advice of my life, ‘Avoid a knife fight, they are bloody and messy.’

True wisdom from a sage I love and revere from the hills of Knoxville, where they really do know a thing or two about knife fighting, and chicken fighting for that matter, but that’s different post.

I also have a horrible knife memory from my childhood. My sister used to take dance classes at the somewhat shady Renette Park on the south side of El Cajon.

I always tagged along. My mom would be inside watching my sister learn to be the next Fergie, and I would go out to the park to learn about life on the streets and play whatever pickup game was going on. I was about 11 or so, and at that point in my life, very afraid of snakes, older kids, and black dudes who hung out at community parks.

So it was during one of these days that I saw one black dude get mad at another black dude during a pickup football game. At the height of his anger black dude #1 pulled out a switchblade and raised it in the general direction of black dude #2 and said “I’ll part your hair Tyrone.” True story, I did not make that name up.

I have since gotten over my fear of black dudes in public places, but not my fear of knives or snakes.

Fast-forward to 2004. I am a newlywed enjoying the simple things in life with my new bride like going on walks, folding laundry while watching Padre games, and cooking together.

One evening while making dinner together My Life With Lauren TM happened again.

She was telling me a particularly intense story, and she was pretty animated about it. I don’t remember the nature of the story but it’s safe to assume it involved a retail associate and the fact that to Lauren, they’re all idiots.

The catch is that we are chopping veggies while L tells the story, meaning that she is holding . . . (you guessed it) a KNIFE!

As the story reaches its boiling point and her arms are flying and chopping that I warn her to take it easy with all the gesturing since she is holding a knife, and has a propensity for household accidents.

At that comment she gets all defensive and offended and says “Hey, I’m a big girl, I know how to chop vegetables and talk.”

We’ll see about that . . .

Not 30 seconds go by, and as we’re both working on the same cutting board, Beinhana shanks me in the finger with her ninja blade.

We’re not talking about her slightly poking or brushing my finger with the knife, and me having an alarmed reaction without merit. I bled my own blood.

Which earned her a “Dammit Lauren!!!!!” for the first time in our marriage.

So be warned, friends don’t let friends chop and talk.