I opened up my pocket knife and cut a piece of cheese. The blade was sharp enough to shave and sliced the cheese with ease.
My good wife asked me, “Have you ever washed your knife with soap? I slightly hesitated, then I answered with a Nope!
And then she said, “I wonder what your knife’s been in today? I had to think a minute, but as far as I could say,
“Old Cyruss had a sore that oozed a tiny bit of pus. So, I sliced it with my pocket knife. There ain’t no need to fuss.”
“Cuz I wiped the blade across my shirt between the spurts of goo. That sore had built up pressure, squirted out from here to you.”
“I cut a month of cockleburs from both the mane and tail. You better take a load of hon. You’re lookin’ mighty pale.”
“The sliver that was festerin’ alongside my big toe, well I dug it with my pocket knife. There ain’t much left to show.”
“And talk about my toe, I got a nasty case of gout. But still opened up my pocket knife and cleaned my toenails out.”
“I’d have to say in my lifetime ain’t found a better tool. And if you’ve never had a knife, well maybe you’re the fool.”
“My father gave me my first knife when I turned eight years old. The finest gift I’d ever had, meant more to me than gold.”
“I never leave the house without my pocket knife at hand. To me it’s more than just a knife. No need to understand.”
“So, don’t you fret none ‘bout my knife. I know you think it’s rank. But I soaked it deep in alcohol. The brand your uncle drank.”
“And if you’re wonderin’ did I throw your uncle’s booze away? Well, I did one even better, chugged the last drop down today.”