Thursday, January 12, 2012

Lesson 1: The curse of the violent opener

I had a 10 minute wrestling match with a fruit cup today. No, it was not so expired that the bacteria grew fists and attacked me; I simply suffer from a curse. I am the worst opener of things alive. Ask my husband. Ask my mom. Ask the corpses of littered cereal boxes, gogurt wrappers, and microwave popcorn bags in my kitchen. They are mutilated to the point of horror. My curse is not helped by the fact that these cups of peaches were inexplicably sealed together. My first challenge was tearing them apart. Asking nicely didn't help. I had to apply brute force to rip them asunder. In doing so, I somehow ripped a hole in one of the fruit cups, so that as I wrestled to open it, I could also enjoy the sticky drip of peach juice down my cramping arm. After struggling intensely for a minute or two to peel back the part that should, in fact, "peel", but never DOES, I informed the fruit cup that if that's the way it wanted to play it, I would be getting the knife. Slaughtering the fruit cup was not as satisfying as I would have thought. Stabbing it did, eventually, lead to me being able to remove the cover, but at what cost? The second fruit cup stared from the counter in terror. I'm shocked that it didn't just explode out of protest. Aren't we so lucky to have these 'ready to eat' foods today?

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