Tuesday, March 23, 2004


I am very bad at opening things.

When I am an old lady and die alone I expect to be found three weeks later not half eaten by an Alsatian (I gave up dogs nearly twelve years ago in exchange for valuable consideration) but emaciated by hunger, clutching a jar of olives or something whose top I was unable to loosen.

Until then, I get to be tortured by items like shrink wrapped CD's (but now I have this nifty mouse shaped blade whose sole purpose in life is to cut the wrappings--take that you scoundrel!) and today's nemesis: a Cordless Optical Mouse for Notebooks encased in a rigid plastic tomb. A rigid plastic tomb that now boasts several incisions that I cleverly made with a pair of scissors. As I sit back and survey my work they look like mere scratches. I bend and pull on the plastic so it's clear I've made cuts, not scratches. But it doesn't matter. The tomb's contents remain pristine. If I were a smoker I would have a cigarette right now and consider my options.

Fittingly--and perhaps this is connected with my opening issues--I am also very bad at closing things. Tupperware containers that I have stored food in appear closed, but they are really not. When an innocent stumbles across one and attempts to exert the pressure normally needed to pull off the lid, it flies open and the contents spray onto the floor. In this way, I get to pay it forward.


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