Icouldn’t believe how happy I was to see Old Red when I moved back into my house after the fires.

After dusting and washing her with antibacterial soap, I carefully patted her dry as I spoke.

“Yes, here I am using you again, even though I vowed not to.” The truth is that this little red can opener, which was almost impossible for me to use, had become one of those symbols of home. Although I had constantly sworn to replace her with one I could actually use without bloodying my fingers, she remains.

Not only have I not replaced her, but I’ve kind of settled in with Old Red.

“Still having soup for dinner?” she asked as I dug her blades into a can of Progresso.

“I like soup, and it’s cold tonight.”

“Your daughter would say otherwise.”

“Probably, but she’s not here.”

“You wouldn’t want

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