I had a girl friend, with whom I once went camping. I was grilling meat on the little propane stove, and she wanted to open a can of chili or beans or something.
“Oh no! We forgot to bring a can opener!”
“No worries,” I say, “use the can opener on my pocket knife.” I carefully hand her the knife, after pulling the can opener blade out.
She stares it at doubtfully. “Does this work?” she asks.
“Absolutely” I say. “It’s a bit of a pain, but it works.”
She goes to work on the can; I continue grilling.
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” she says. “It’s taking forever.”
“Just be patient; it’ll work. Take your time.”
After several minutes, during which she is obviously growing more and more frustrated, she says, “I really don’t think this is going to work.” I come over and see what she is doing.
To my astonishment, she has made a series of jagged radial incisions through about a third of the can’s circumfrence. Bits of ragged metal are everywhere. :smack:
With effort, I choke back my laughter, and gently show her how to open a can with the can opener. She starts to cry, realizing her mistake.
Later, she makes me promise NEVER to tell anyone about this; this is a promise I’ve kept, until now. Two years ago, after she and I had been together for about 5 years, she dumped me to move in with some guy. To hell with the promise!
Knorf