I vann to drrink your soup

About a week ago my roommate accidentally threw out the can opener. At least, we assume that's what happened. We had previously had three can openers. But on Sunday, when I went to make my tomato soup (a frequent lunch of mine), nary a one was to be found. I looked all over. All possible drawers and cupboards (not to mention some impossible ones too), the dish rack, the dish washer, the refrigerator even. A cursory glance through her room and the garage. No can openers evident. All the world was against me. How can three can openers vanish like that?

But all was not lost. I was still able to get to my soup. Over the course of my desperate search, I'd found some bottle openers. A few jabs with one, and out came the soup, easily enough. Though the poor can was left looking like it had been brutalized by some sort of crazed, tomato-soup-craving vampire. I've repeated this procedure over the course of the week. Like I said, tomato soup is a frequent lunch...

Upon questioning my roommate, it turned out that she'd thrown out two of the can openers. Or rather, she'd meant to. Only one of them was decently functional, so she'd disposed of the other two, to keep them from cluttering up our limited kitchen space. Most likely she absent-mindedly included the decent one in that purge. No worries. Soup is accessible enough, even without a can opener. But I've had to do without tuna fish for a while. It doesn't seep out through bottle opener punctures too well, and I'm smart enough not to try.

But today I decided to take the plunge and buy a new can opener. The one I selected will not be so easy to eliminate. Want to know why? Don't worry, I won't deny you of my logic =). This new can opener is irresistable because it's red. That's right. A red can opener! And what, you wonder, does color have to do with committment to kitchen appliances? It's quite simple, really. Red symbolizes passion. I have a passionate can opener. Or maybe I'm passionate about it. Whichever. It matters little. The point is that passion, even in the form of a can opener, is not so readily disposed of. That can opener loves opening cans (which it does divinely, I might add). It loves me. And I love it back.