Pocket Knife

I'm not sure if it was the age, geographical location, or population of the area where I grew up, but all my life men have carried pocket knives.

From banker to farmer, attorney to plumber. Any time you were trying to open something, every man in viewing distance would pull out their pocket knife and offer it to you opened, handle pointed towards you.

It was just something I accepted as truth, like knowing how to brush my teeth. Well, maybe that's not a good example. Who knew after thirty years of thinking you knew how to brush teeth someone would finally decide you needed to brush your tongue too? Go figure.

Anyway, back to the story . . .

My loving hubby, his brothers, my brothers, my brother-in-laws, my uncles, my neighbors, all carry pocket knives. And no, not just when they are going hunting. All the time. So a few weeks back I was shocked when I was in a Home Depot and asked a man standing next to me in the cable section if I could borrow his knife.

He looks at me all panicked and says, "I don't carry a knife." He's in the friggin' Home Depot -- isn't there a requirement you have to be sort of manly to even enter them? I think even the women have to exclude a higher male hormone than normal to get in the doors.

A few minutes later, I asked another man. With the same response. I was so flabbergasted I had to tell Steve about it later. A few days later the same thing happen to me again, this time in paint department of a Walmart store.

A week or so later the family was at a flea market and Steve bought a new knife. I mentioned after we left that I saw a knife I was considering purchasing myself. That evening he pulls out these 'extra' pocket knives from years past he's had stashed. I pick out a very slim plain silver knife. Only thing I do not like about it is the silly dear sticker I can't get off; that's a little butch for me. LOL

I carry it in my purse and have been shocked at how often I've pulled it out and used it since I've had it. At least three or four times a week.

Today I was waiting in line at the new post office. A woman was at the only open register ahead of me. And there was one man behind me in line. The employee knew the gentleman and had been talking to him ever since he walked in the building. It became obvious the woman checking out needed one box from a bundle that was secured with binding. The employee searched and couldn't find scissors.

So she says to her gentleman friend, "You're a good ole boy, Roger. Take out your knife and help this lady open that package."

Rodger stumbles and stutters before admitting he doesn't have a knife. He goes up and tries to muscle the strapping off. I just shake my head, open my knife, and go slit the package open.

Does that make me a "good ole boy?"