I continue to be jarred by that ... er ... bottle of mayo that I mentioned a few posts back in Maybe I Really Am Dyslexic . You know the post where I described turning the lid the wrong way at first and breaking the opener when I exerted so much force on it by trying to reverse my error?
The jar's been sitting on the counter ever since. Today, SIL dropped by, gently twisted the lid, and it almost flew off in his hands. While one is tempted to feel very foolish under such circumstances, it brought to mind a similar situation when I was the hero rather than the goat.
I was in my first year of high school — grade eight. I wasn't exactly large and robust back then. In fact, I didn't have my growth spurt for another year, not until after ninth grade. Funny that one of my previously larger friends chose that summer to stop trying to goad me into wrestling matches. I had usually accounted for myself reasonably well when I was quite a bit smaller than he, so perhaps he was wise to desist when I became the larger fellow. But, once again, as is my habit, I digress — forgive me but one memory leads to another.
The memory that I strated to unravel was the one time when I was the lid removing hero. A friend and I were hanging around after school, and another guy whom we didn't know brought an ink bottle over and asked if we would try to open it. Neil tried and failed. I tried and opened it just as easily as SIL did today. The kid looked at me with some surprise and respect and said that he had taken it to all sorts of guys who hadn't been able to budge it. No doubt, at least part of the surprise stemmed from the fact that I was one of the littler guys to be offered the opportunity.
I know that it was simply the bottle's time to give it up, and I was just the next guy in line. It felt good though: much better than it did today watching SIL open the mayo so durn easily.