It’s an extraordinarily nasty day today in Birmingham. Meagan, the local weather lady, tells me that it’s sixty degrees outside and thunderstorms are going to be the norm until at least two in the afternoon. Drivers are cautioned to beware of “puddling,” a term I’d not heard of until this morning but has its own color coded map warning so it must be a thing. The day simultaneously is treacherous and dull.
But none of that matters. I found my pocket knife.
After a week misspent fetching pliers and walking unnecessary feet for scissors I have once again managed to establish cutlery autonomy.
In a week that saw the delivery of a well taped television stand, a devilishly contained flat screen tv, an overly packaged phone charger, and numerous knots and and staples in need of removing, my pocket knife finally resurfaced from it’s hidey hole at the bottom of a pile of laundry.
So now I am a well prepared mass of kinetic can do-ism. What to do…