The Murder Weapon

Dear Reader,

If you ever need someone to hide the body, don’t call me.

Some people never fail to remain poised and level-headed in intense situations. These people and I are two independent circles on a Venn diagram.

Last weekend, I was facing some difficulty slicing a lemon. Whenever I would bring down the knife into the waxy, yellow skin, I found that I had to wiggle and force the blade just to get it to the other side of the soft fruit. Juice squirted everywhere and the lemon slices looked used up rather than fresh from all of the squeezing. Our kitchen knife is, probably, less than two-years old and it is already getting dull (despite the fact that the case has a built-in knife sharpener). Because the lemon-slicing experience was agonizing, I wasted no time in ordering a new utensil.

Sometimes I have a bad habit of spending too much time deciding between products when making a purchase. It seems ridiculous that we should spend more than five minutes of our lives deciding between hair-tie brands or between black pens. I did not want to waste even a minute looking at knives and simply chose the one with the highest rating on Amazon and clicked “check out.”

A few days later when the package came in the mail, I had already forgotten about the knife. I opened the large box and was happy to see that my salted peanuts had arrived (yay!). Upon removing the case of peanuts, I saw that there was one other narrow item in the container. In that split second, I was genuinely confused about what it was. I picked up the knife in its plastic slip and thought “holy….”

This is a big-a** knife. Look at it! It was large and heavy like a small sword. It is so big, in fact, that it would not fit properly into the silverware drawer. This is a bona-fide murder weapon. I was devastated.

My mind quickly proceeded to go through the five stages of grief.

  1. Denial

This can’t be right? The order must be wrong! Maybe the casing is really big and there is a teeny-tiny kitchen knife tucked away inside.

I kid you not, I picked up the knife from the box, walked it over to the trash can, and shoved it inside. I thought, I can’t let my boyfriend see this, it is so clearly a MURDER WEAPON!

I then felt instantly like a MURDERER because I’m sure trying to hide the (pre-) evidence is suuuuper suspicious.

  • Anger

The knife was still in the trash at this point and I didn’t even care whether I wasted my money. Are there seriously 1,000 chefs out there who gave this monster knife a five-star rating on Amazon!? I can’t even give this knife away in good conscious for fear that I may be abetting an actual MURDER!

  • Bargaining

I started to unload the dishwasher and thought: If only I had spent two minutes reading the reviews…just two minutes…Who doesn’t have two minutes!?

The knife remained in the trash can.

  • Depression 

I’m so sad that I don’t even care that a big-a** knife would end up in a landfill.

  • Acceptance

My senses FINALLY started to kick in about seven minutes later. I removed the knife from the trash can and later that day I started the process to return the knife. Logically, I know that throwing away a big-a** knife is not only stupid but also a stupidly dangerous thing to do.

This is why you should not call me if you need someone to hide a body. I seriously cannot imagine that I would have reacted with any more reason or grace in an actual murder coverup.

There is a partner in crime out there for everyone and I’m sure you’ll find someone who will not only hide the body, but will also frame someone else on your behalf. I am just not that person, but I know that some man, woman, or precocious adolescent is out there waiting for you.

I wish you all the best in your endeavors.

Love,

Raven

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