For the most part, I’m fairly happy with my age. I’m ok with this almost 50 thing. I can’t imagine going backwards and I’ve so much to look forward to in the future.
Occasionally however, the body shows its age.
I’m not talking about the lines on my face or the constant battle with my slowing metabolism.
I’m talking about the unspoken assumption of youth that opening a can is 1-2-3 easy peasy.
Let me tell you something you might not know, that motion of winding and twisting the can open is actually painful for me these days.
And, as the can openers start to age and their blades begin to need that extra push, it’s something I ask one of the kids to do if they are home.
Tonight, I caved. After struggling to open a can, I sat down at my laptop and ordered an electric. I’ve always been loathe to buy one because our chicken counter space is practically non-existant. Same is true for our cabinets. This is a small battery operated device. I’m cautiously optimistic that it will work and that I’ll be able to find a place to store it.
Just in case, I also ordered the usual turn-the-crank variety because I’m that kind of gal. I like to have a back-up plan for the back-up plan.
Fingers crossed that if I want to make chicken salad tomorrow night, I’ll be able to open the can without having to rub my wrist and thumb afterwards.
203 Days to go.
© Randi Sumner