Shh...don't let Homeland Security in on this, but my mom is a latent Public Enemy Number One.
Last week, we attended The Pony's academic team meet. One of his buddies has a younger brother, so the parents had picked up some earphones for him to listen to his computer games while the meet was in progress. You know how hard those plastic packages are to pry open. The mother came to our table and asked if anybody had some scissors.
Don't go thinking that folks here in Backroads roam the countryside, concealing scissors willy-nilly. That's not our style. The academic coach was sitting at our library table, so the mother was wondering if there might be scissors in the librarian's desk. She wasn't being forward. She's also a faculty member within the district. We have certain unalienable rights. Don't begrudge them. We have so few perks.
Before Coach could rifle through the librarian's desk, my mom hauled her snack-filled purse onto the table. She rummaged momentarily, then withdrew a zippered bag. The kind of purse bag that most women of her years would use to hold lipstick and powder. Not MY mom. She whipped out three knives. They were Case pocket knives of varying colors and sizes.
Some might assume that Mom was merely carrying them as keepsakes. That they had belonged to my dad. Au contraire. You know what happens when you assume. And I'll thank you not to make me an...um...one of those donkey-animals. Mom carries those knives just in case somebody might need a knife. And not to cut warm butter.
She handed the medium-sized brown knife to that mother, who used it to slice through the hard, clear plastic at approximately the speed of light. That blade was razor-sharp. The kid put on his earphones, the mother folded the knife and handed it back, and Mom stowed it away like it was perfectly normal.
Did I mention that weapons are not allowed on school property?