Everyone who has ever been a descendent of a married person within the last fifty years has one. No, I don’t mean a blog. I am talking about the item you see to your left.
No, I don’t mean “in the room.” What I mean is, please direct your attention to the left of your computer screen. No, not the Youtube of a cat sitting like a person. Close all of the extra windows you have going.
Ok, I guess I need to be really specific. I am talking about the item that is on the left side of this blog page. It’s a knife. I heard someone say somewhere back there that “it’s a PICTURE of a knife.” Ok, I guess if I am being literally, you can be that way too.
Anyways, it is not just any knife. It is the Random Knife. More specifically, its my Random Knife.
Everyone has one, even if you are not aware of it. You are cleaning up after dinner and amid a sudsing, you hold it up and ponder this oddball that stands out with its roses or its curliques amid the sea of streamlined utilitarianism that typifies your maritally selected good china. It travelled with you from the home of your parents when you went off to college or you otherwise moved out, grabbing a spoon, knife, and fork as you packed up the car, albeit mismatched. Later on, you met someone and it necessitated having a full set of silverware, so off to the discount store you went and bought a service for six. The Random Knife hid among the mishmash as it mingled amid the newcomers and the flatware of a series of roommates, and “let’s move in togethers,” and was naturally singled out to stick in the aluminum foiled cake in the fridge or to open a box unsuccessfully with its dull blade, until the day happened that every Random Knife both rejoices and shudders at: the wedding registry.
You newlyweds start off with a whole gleaming new set, but somehow the Random Knife survives. Too nice to throw out, and who donates “just one knife?”
The day you take notice, a few years have gone by with your memory completely erased on how the Random Knife came to be. Could have been accidentally left at your house by somebody? But the pattern looks vaguely familiar. It had to have come from home. If it did, you could find out, because your parents had not changed a thing in their kitchen since 1988 (1988:Two Words…Geese Wallpaper.)
On Thanksgiving Day, you covertly open the silverware drawer and much to your surprise, there is no drawer full of family members akin to The Random Knife. It is a whole different set. But, hiding behind them all is a single spoon, who bears the mark of the family of the Random Knife.
So, the conspiracy goes back to at LEAST the early 70s! Your The Random Knife was actually your mother’s Random Knife, and somehow you selected it from the drawer that fateful day when you moved out. You could have chosen any knife in the drawer, but your hand somehow was magnetized to it in mock Arthurian fashion.
Indeed, recollection suggests it and a 1951 House Beautful Magazine touting its virtues confirms it: The Random Knife started out its life as an anniversary gift to Grandma and Grandpa. The Damask Rose pattern was a big hit in 1951, apparently. After G and G bought silverware with rubberized handles to accommodate children and grandkids, the set was split up and profliferated throughout the family.
You clutch The Random Knife close and vow to never let it see the inside of a thrift store just because it is a little mismatched, just like the rest of your family. You almost want to get on having seven children just to increase the odds that you will have someone to pass The Random Knife down to. But, if the Random Knife is intentionally given to someone as their birthright, is it Random anymore?
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