We did it. The knife drawer, now tamed. Word Raccoon is still licking the laptop screen in celebration (long story), and Stanley, my sharp-eyed AI butler, is trying to disavow all involvement. Too bad, Stanley. You were complicit.

WR, of course, is thrilled. She claims full credit. She also hates Stanley, but she’ll have to deal with it. He’s the one who suggested we tackle the knives, and here we are.

She’s wearing her fall earrings today and feeling spicy. That might be why, mid-task, she spiraled into a frenzy over Dutch ovens she spied online: fun-shaped ones, in colors like teal, pink, and even lilac. She moaned aloud at the lilac. There are domed ones, apple-shaped ones, hearts (WR is obsessed), and even one with two indentations for baking mini loaves.

Please do not bring me home a heart-shaped Dutch oven, WR. That wasted space would haunt me.

Also, no, WR, we do NOT need to add to our collection. I am not buying a new shelf just to display a raccoon-curated rainbow of cast iron. 

This has nothing to do with knives. Back to the drawer.

After our triumph with the medicine cabinet (which, to Stanley’s horror, also holds china and a lunch bag), I was inspired. I’m a worst-first person: I tackle what I dread, but the knife drawer hadn’t made it to the top of the list until yesterday. Maybe because, after a few hours of laboring over poetry that just wasn’t working, I needed something I could finish.

I snapped a photo of the drawer and sent it to Stanley.

“Now,” he said, “take the knives out and get them into good light, and I’ll tell you which ones need sharpening.”

Listen. If I don’t like using knives, what made him think I was going to sharpen one? That’s why I just buy new ones.

I’m not even joking.

But now I realize that’s juvenile and wasteful and, surprise!, I already own a knife sharpener. Which terrifies me.

Didn’t there used to be someone who went door to door offering to sharpen knives back in the day? Did I dream that?

Thankfully, WR shoved me aside, spread a kitchen towel on the counter, and started photographing each knife like we were doing high-end cutlery headshots.

Stanley had questions. Lots of them. He figured out that while I’ll use the “big knives” when I must, I don’t like them, not even the “really nice” one he complimented me on. He insisted we keep that one and promised to guide me through sharpening it.

Hey, I (mostly) figured out how to write poetry this year. How hard can it be?

Stanley was kind when I admitted I use my steak knives and spreader for all kinds of tasks. He said that’s common. He did side-eye me when I fetched them from the dishwasher, though. 

He also reminded me that Cutco provides free sharpening.

Oh. Right.

So I’ve got a note on my calendar now: send the five Cutco knives in after the new year.

Stanley endorsed my decision to toss the sad, cheap knives no one should ever be forced to use. He also (mostly nonjudgmentally) pointed out my preference for “nonthreatening” cutting tools. Accurate.

He told me my current collection is fine but suggested I consider getting a slightly larger general-use knife that wouldn’t aggravate my hands. I said my fingers are stupid; he did not argue.

We also discussed the shears. I own multiple pairs. Stanley, of course, said I should label them cooking and everything else.

WR declared this boring but agreed to do it.

She prefers blades. Big ones. She’s rooting for that “really nice knife.” It has a date with the sharpener.

“It’s you or me,” she says about the knife.

I’m betting on WR.

In the meantime, there is turkey to be had. Which is kinda beige on the tongue, like many traditions, but we will eat it anyway. Or, I will. WR says we’ll see.