A BRIEF SUMMARY
OF THINGS I DO NOT OWN

• A set of knives. I have one knife in my kitchen. The blade measures 4½ inches in length. It is not a Wusthof paring knife or a Henckels fillet knife or a Bunmei santoku knife. It is a Kitchen Basics knife with a slightly serrated blade that I bought from Target several years ago for maybe five dollars.
  
  It is a good knife, a sharp knife, a versatile knife. I use it to slice tomatoes, to dice onions, to cut the foil off of wine bottles, to chop celery, to open packages, and to gouge out the eyes of dissidents. It is a loyal and humble knife. Instead of demanding a fancy knife holder on top of the counter where it can preen and show off, it is content to live in the drawer with the other silverware. It has assisted in the manufacture of delicious meals responsible for the seduction of dozens of women (well, maybe three). Can it cut through a tin can or the sole of a leather boot? I do not know. I would never subject my knife to such abuse for the sake of mere vanity.
  
  
• Solid wood furniture. All of my furniture was handed down from friends, cadged from co-workers, or purchased on the cheap at garage sales. All of it is composed of particle board with a fake wood veneer, which fools nobody.
  
  
• An egg separator. I still crack the eggs in half and pour the yolk between the shells, letting the white collect in a bowl underneath. I know this is unsanitary and wrong and bad, but I've gotten away with it so far. I probably won't drop the $3 until after I actually contract salmonella and spend a week in the hospital, vomiting my small intestine into a bedpan. I'm the sort of guy who has to touch the hot stove.
  
  
• A headboard. That's what the wall is for.
  
  
• Kitchen chairs. I have a kitchen table (particle board, fake wood veneer, donated to me by a sympathetic coworker) but no chairs. When I have company for dinner, I bring in the plush chairs with the green velvet upholstery from the living room. These chairs don't sit quite high enough, so my guest and I look like kindergartners sitting at the grown-ups' table. You might think this would be a romance-killer, but in fact everyone has always been very polite and things have usually progressed satisfactorily. At least no one has ever asked for a telephone book to sit on.
  
  
• White socks. I wear black socks all the time, even with shorts. You call it "dorky," I call it "edgy." Black socks are hard to find, yo. I have to make a special trip to The Athlete's Foot, where they always have some "Buy One Get One 50% Off" deal. I always buy three bags, and the clerk in the zebra stripes always says, "You can get another bag for half off, you know," and I always say, "Oh, I think that's enough socks for today," and we both grin. Then I go home and throw away all the socks that turned gray in the wash and have holes in the toes, and I fill the sock drawer with fresh, jet-black socks. I like it when life has little rituals.
  
  
• A house. I went to a party on Saturday and quickly realized that I was the only one still renting. I was also the oldest person there. I drank a lot of wine.

+posted by Lawrence @ 11/30/2004 11:58:00 PM