Last weekend while my husband, also known in these parts and proximities as “P”, looked around the machinist’s shop in East Croydon for things that go torque and wrenches that do wrenching things … I was visually glued to the peg board behind the clerk. A whole wall of razors, blades, knives and hand-held thingies that I was convinced might double as the lame that my heart yearns for. Flip – preposition at the end of a sentence.
So I bought this one.
Pretty. Lovely blue. Frighten spring function that means it opens like a flip-knife. But as a lame, it’s not what I’d hope for.
When will I learn that everything that’s pretty doesn’t work pretty well.
But not all was lost. P said “Don’t worry. I’ve had my eye on it. I’ll take it off your hands.” And so he did, rolling it expertly (or most worryingly) up and over each finger like a rolling wave.
I happen to know that youngest son has ordered me a proper lame from Bakery Bits for Christmas. Ho-ho-ho.
p.s. I’m told that this knife is a beauty for firmer dough. Thanks for the tip, Joanna!