Cut to the chase: One woman's failed journey to buy a boning knife

My family has been nervously monitoring my mental and emotional instability for years as it has slowly eroded from cute bouts of claustrophobia, keeping away from crowds, and mysteriously going deaf whenever forced to respond to a heavy accent. The societal changes resulting from the pandemic escalated these adorable abnormalities. I foolishly thought, though, that my quirks were pretty well contained to my family, friends, and the four people who read my blog. 

I was wrong.

Apparently, I'm on a list.

A hunter's wife for over thirty years, we process one, two, and occasionally, three deer each season. "We" is Brad in our poorly lit basement-slash-butcher's shop and me, upstairs, hiding. Despite my limited involvement, I am still very aware of the importance of a quality set of knives and when Brad expressed a desire for a new boning knife, I "virtually" sprang into action...not blinking an eye at the three figure dollar amount. But before hitting "purchase," I paused, brightening. There was a personalization option! Glorious! I sat back, considering my choices. Brad and I are not a conventionally romantic couple. Poems and posies are not our style. Any card exchanges are usually filled with cutting commentary. "Cuts like a knife" came to mind but Bryan Adams doesn't really monopolize our playlists. 

Wait! I had it! 

On two notable occasions, I had responded to environmental challenges with my typical good grace and charm. Once, while careening through the Chunnel, fatigued and underfed, I made it to the crowded breakfast compartment to discover that only ONE chocolate pastry remained. Overhearing the two students in front of me planning their order, I interrupted them...my first introduction of a phrase that is now legendary in my family. I would have cause to repeat this utterance several years later when my pastor selfishly blocked my inevitable exit by (gasp) conversating with new parishioners. I waited patiently for approximately four seconds before leaning in to growl, "I WILL cut you," before dramatically brushing by. My pastor, as usual, took it in stride but, upon reflection, I don't recall seeing the new parishioners again. 

Confident, I typed this loving message into the personalization box and clicked "purchase," pleased with my decision. This object had now been elevated from "practical gift" to heirloom status. 

Several days later, I received an email from the knife company asking me to contact them. Unsuspectingly, I dialed the 800 number, expecting that I'd entered my information incorrectly or that they were going to warn me about delayed shipping or something. Never did I imagine that my order had been cancelled and my status as a customer had been red flagged. 

"It was a joke," I explained, willing to remove the message and still buy their expensive product. 

"It is company policy to refuse sale to clients when safety becomes an issue," the representative said soothingly, "The health, both mental AND physical, and well-being of our customers is our top priority."

I bit my lip in a surprising show of self-restraint as I fought back every impulse in my body to scream at this lunatic as I realized that would only lend more credence to surfacing doubts of my being a safe and sane member of society. 

I swallowed my pride and apologized ("Like you should have done to our pastor," Brad remarked unnecessarily later.) but the damage was done. I had been officially cut off from the knife company. I may have made one or two stabbing retorts before ending the call. "Naturally," Brad nodded.

So, yes. I had to go undercover to make a knife purchase. My daughters delighted in being the accomplices to my little deception, howling with laughter at my little pickle. "She stressed mental and physical?" Sydney snickered, "Wow, she really went for the jugular!" Savannah suggested buying Brad a gun next to see if I was on Homeland Security's radar yet. "Way to twist the knife, girls," I growled.

So Brad received his sad little unadorned boning knife and I fought to pay three figures to have my mental stability questioned when I could have that done at home...for FREE. No matter how you slice it, it was a painful lesson.