Your sharpest knife, please.

‘All the men stop to say hello to you Violet, it’s such bullshit, they don’t even see us…’

I was sitting with my best friends forever in our local coffee shop.

‘Well maybe I’ve just slept with all of them,’ I replied, saying hi to Joe as he walked past.

I laughed.

My girlfriends laughed too.


They weren’t sure if they should believe me or not. It’s just not appropriate for women to go through all the men in the coffee shop.

I reassured them.

‘I haven’t fucked them.  Any of them. Maybe I’m just friendly, I talk to everyone, hi Dave, hi Len, hi oh I don’t know your name but hey…’

Maybe I should though and notch them up on my favourite barstool. It could be fun and a good way to while away long hot summer days.

I called the waiter over and asked for his sharpest knife.

Sure, he said, wandering off to get one.

I could’ve asked for a meat cleaver and he still would’ve said sure and gone to get one.

Such good service at our local.

We got more coffee, a couple of croissants and a knife and we sipped and laughed and sipped and carved and sipped and suddenly the difficult one walked past.

Shoulders back, looking straight ahead of him, stopping for no man.

Or woman.

My heart.

He’s the only one who I really want to stop and say hello. He’s the only one where the carving would mean something.

He’s the one that I really want to notch.


10 thoughts on “Your sharpest knife, please.

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