The kitchen is supposed to be one place where females should normally have no difficulty surviving by themselves, or is it true? We all come to this phase when we start pondering on how independent we really are. Is it true that I can live by myself with no dependency on anyone?? And of course, the mid-20 crisis looms in front of me, haunting me day and night with the question, "Do I really need a man?"
With mood swings becoming part of my core trait, I was near to tears with anger, frustration and a bruised ego that I couldn't even open a blasted jar of pasta sauce, with the spaghetti almost done and my stomach having the sensation of a little dragon roaring and fuming inside. Why not make your own sauce.... I was out of tomatoes. Why not get some tomatoes... the store is 15 minutes away. Why not use another sauce.... the other jar is impossible to open as well. Why not eat something else like bread.... the jar of marionberry spread has been sitting on the counter painfully reminding me that I have been trying to open it for a month now... the jar of jalapeño spread cries the same woe. Why are jars so damn female unfriendly?!!!
As an engineer and as a normal being, I've tried alllll possible methods. Twist and turn, run under hot water for ages and tilt upside down, then twist and turn, bang the head against the counter, twist the lid with a knife to release the air.... but no!! None would work. My able and efficient room mate who has always been my aid in such times, failed too... crying that her palms were bruised.
Knowing nobody in our apartment complex , we cradled the three jars in our arms and walked across the street, in search of three Indian men to aid us. On the way, we were contemplating on a back up plan... what if they aren't home? May be ask those men BBQing for help, in return for a kiss from my hot roommate?? Randomly knock on somebody's doors, two poor Indian girls with jars in their arms? But thank heavens, one of them was home and we dumped the jars on him.
He tried twisting and turning.... his face puffing and his arms trembling with the pressure, but no it wouldn't budge. He ran it under hot hot water and banged with all his might on the counter, but no it wouldn't come. I felt sorry for him... I don't understand much about men. But I do know their egos get bruised easily... especially with two girls watching them as they struggle with opening a jar. I interjected, feeling very bad and asked him to give up... "you know we should return this... this is sealed far too tight. I even tried twisting the lid with a knife to release the air, but it's so tightly jammed". At this, a bulb seemed to glow above his head, "It's air sealed! Of course!" Saying so, he took a knife and with all his fury jammed it on top of the lid, punching a triumphant hole that hissed out air and popped the lid.
You see, the 'brain' is always mightier... he was a true PhD candidate :). I also feel much better. Of course I can punch holes to open jars... that's within my capacity, and for now I can surely call myself independent... that is till the time I find a spider in the bath tub. Hmm.... it gets tricky to define 'independent'.