Kitchen Knife

I have a knife in my kitchen that freaks me out whenever I see it, and I never use it, it is a murder weapon, long, and pointed and tapering out to a fine point.

It gives me the creeps.

I was making Bolognese sauce, yesterday, and I pulled it out of the draw by accident and then it was in my hand, but I told myself not to be a baby, and just use it. So, I did.

I was slicing mushrooms.

Every time I look at it, I can feel it plunging into my back, over and over, or feel it piecing me between my ribs. No, it's into my back, piercing my kidneys that I feel it. I shiver in anticipation. It's like a bad horror movie.

Within moments, there I am bent over the kitchen bench, face down on the Bolognese sauce, my back peppered with multiple bleeding puncture wounds, pumping blood into the air like the United Nations fountain.

David would say that it was probably something that happened in a past life, and he never really seems to accept that I don't believe in past lives, as most of those new age spiritualist types tend to do.

"Ah." I put the knife down on the bench.

After that, I'd kept sneaking looks at it, I guess, just to make sure it was still on the bench where I left it, making sure it hadn't moved, mysteriously.

When I'd finished constructing the Bolognese sauce and had put it onto simmer for an hour, and I was washing up those things I couldn't put in the dishwasher, I washed that knife and dried it and put it away back in the draw out of sight, first.

I know, get therapy. Pfffff! Get rid of the knife, is the cheaper option. But, how do you get rid of such a weapon?