This weekend, my roommate and I had many an epic fail. Specifically in the realm of opening containers.
- On Friday, she couldn’t get her massive jar of applesauce open. After trying for a really long time, she asked me to try… preemptively letting me know she had loosened it. She clearly did not loosen it enough, as it would not even start to budge. We both tried several more times, but to no avail. We used fabric to hold on, hoping that the texture change would improve our grip. Nope. We tried the awkward, “you hold the jar and I’ll twist the lid” approach. Not helpful. We tapped the lid on the table, we tapped the lid with a knife. Eventually, after a long battle, we won.
- Tiff ordered a coffee bean canister. It arrived in the mail on Friday. She tried to open it. I tried to open it. I said, “it is too bad we don’t have man hands”. She said, “I think we can consider ourselves blessed that we don’t have manhands”. I had to agree. It sat there mocking her for an extended period of time. Then she buckled down with determination and made her canister opening dreams come true. Her fingers paid the price for this determination.
- I am upstairs doing my Beth Moore homework. She is downstairs making dinner for her small group, when she comes up, looking for help with the can opener. After examining the can opening contraptions she has located in the drawer, I choose an opener that looks to be from the mid 17th century. I’m fairly certain that my hands will be crippled for life after struggling for a considerable length of time to open all those cans.
Lesson learned: we really need some men around to help out with these things in life.