A couple of nights ago we had an incident involving a french fry cutter.
You know I'm a die-hard Idahoan in my heart and nothing but fresh cut potatoes make real french fries... those over-processed garbage things from the freezer aisle are not real. They are plastic fries. And we do not eat plastic at my house.
|Mine isn't this fancy but it works the same way. It's|
just a $10 "As Seen on TV" jobbie from Walmart.
The cutter pictured is from Rawsie.
Around 2 am some loud banging from the kitchen woke me up. Followed by a little cussing... While I was still trying to decide if I should get up and see what he was doing or let it go, he came and poked his head in my door and said "I broke the fry cutter."
I was incredulous and asked "how?" I don't know if he answered or not since even in my half asleep state I was thinking "how the H. E. Double-Toothpicks does one break a fry cutter?" but I followed him back down to the kitchen to see what mess he'd left for me this time.
Sure enough. Remedial lessons should have been given.
The insanely obvious take it out of the box, set it on the counter, lift the top, put your potato inside and push the top down... I guess was somewhat less than obvious to him. He took the whole thing apart. Even parts I didn't know came apart! And then jammed the top down over the base an inch farther than it should go and without the blade inside. And it was stuck together. I mean stuck!!
I tried pulling it apart and wedging a knife between the parts to get some leverage to wiggle them apart. A table knife, not a sharp one. I'm may be reckless but I'm not stupid! Before I could get any movement, he took it away from me. Just grabbed it out of my hands... same as the time he grabbed the new breaker thingy out of my hands and electrocuted himself on the breaker box because he took too much of it apart and touched an exposed wire.
Heaven forbid that I might know just the tiniest bit about what I'm doing...
Anyway, he still couldn't get it apart. And he started wailing about the lack of assembly instructions on the side of the box. I was miffed because he grabbed it out of my hands. And he was angry and frustrated because he wanted fries and couldn't make them.
Yes, I said "couldn't."
Go ahead. Roll your eyes. I did as I said I'd just cut them with a knife and figure out the cutter in the morning. So he hands me a big butcher knife. The biggest one out of the drawer. Like I'm gonna clean up potatoes and slice them into french fries with a gargantuan knife meant to hack a side of beef into all those different cuts? Right...
I asked for a smaller knife. And he handed me the next one down. Again, too big for the job. But... I took it and did what I needed to. Nicked my thumb and it bled all over the kitchen. I wrapped a clean dishcloth around it and cut his fries and then went and put a bandaid on my owie and crawled back in bed.
No thank you was proffered. No inquiry if the cut was bad enough to need attention. Nothing. How rude, right?
The next morning it took me less than 10 minutes to work the fry cutter pieces apart. It really didn't need all the cussing and pounding and wailing in the night. So, yes I am going to refer to him as "dumber than a fry cutter" from here on out. Maybe only in my imagination, but still!