My can opener tried to take a plastic bag hostage. Maybe it had issues with the attention I was giving the bag, whereas I had not opened a can for a over a week. Really, though, it was just a crazy incident, resulting from factors beyond my control, that got the bag into the grips of the can opener.
The great mystery of how air and matter come together in a single moment cannot be lost on an event like this. I had just turned around with the bag in my hand to fold it on the table. The handles were waving through the air. The magnetic arm of the can opener was in the same air space as the handles, and one handle was open at just the right angle that it caught on the arm. The one smooth motion I intended to make turned into an awkward tug of war with an inanimate object, which promptly fell over.
It’s worth laughing at now, but if that bag had been a single man, and the can opener another single woman, blood might have been shed. At my stage of life, if the chance for an interaction with an available member of the opposite sex came along, I’d unsheathe the claws and ask questions later. As it was, I won the battle with the can opener, and the bag suffered no ill effects. I guess with a man it would mean no second date.
Sometimes life is just that exciting. The score is one for me and zero for the can opener. And I still got the bag folded.
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