I See What I Did There.

The other day, I was gushing about how great it was that I was getting a pack of six replacement springs for my Swiss Army Knife. Today, I got a spring. One spring, and was like, "Where are the other five?"

I say I was "like" that because the actual sound I made was not that coherent due to my sore tongue and not something I want to reprint in case children are reading.

The error was mine, however. I had been comparing springs on two sites, and the one I didn't go with had a pack of six springs for the price of the one spring I just got, but they charged more for shipping.

Have I ever mentioned I don't see very well? Yeah.

Ain't no replacement brains to be found on the Internet.

But I've got my red knife back, anyway, and the cancelled Yoda stamp on the envelope wasn't too shabby, either. When this spring goes five years from now, if they still sell replacements, I guess I'll get that six-pack.

I See What I Did There.

I love the Swiss.

A magazine psychic once told me I'd end up living in Switzerland--the same guy that told me I left my king in India and had a wonky pancreas--and I can understand that, because I *heart* snow and all, but what I love even more than Swiss Miss hot chocolate and puddings are their knives. Not the ones with the corkscrew, just the classic little knives like the one I hid in 2-XL in case I had to battle ninjas.

My Swiss Army Knife bob haircut was sorta legendary in my family, you know. Yes, I gave myself a straight, even, total Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction hairstyle (of course I have a picture of it). It was a long time ago, I don't have that kind of patience anymore. It should come as no surprise that the scissors--or rather the spring that makes the scissors work properly--broke. It was a very sad night, during the Powerpuff Girl doll project of 1999, just...poof, right in the middle of Bubbles' shoe.

The scissor to my second knife, the red one, finally went on Friday. It was just one of those days in general...I was on Sudafed, I had PMS, I was 7,000 words behind on my NaNoWriMo project, my hands were cracking and bleeding on family members and flatware, and I still had yet to smash my head into a doorknob. No, not deliberately, but it happened. I'm not proud. Or at least, I wasn't proud when I woke up. I was proud of the cats for staying by me to make sure I wasn't dead. Unless...nah, they weren't that hungry.

The hands will be okay in March, the bump on my head went down, the hormones and psuedoephedrine left my system, and I not only caught up on my story I'm only 2,000 words off the goal, but my scissors, they are all still broked. I was sad.

But no, the brilliant, genius Swiss...they make replacement springs.

I would like it to be known that of all the things I was given on Christmas Eve 1993, that black Swiss Army Knife is the thing I have used consistently, and not even to slice the tips of my fingers off or hack holes in my walls, really. The socks? Don't get to wear those colors often. The...Eh. I think that was all I got that year. Socks and my black Swiss. This year I get my black Swiss back! And my Red one! I thought after Helio won Dancing With The Stars my day could not possibly get any better...but I am going to get both of my scissors back. That'll be handy, eh? EH? Suzie Swiss Scissorhands.

edit: I will have extra springs for the "small" classic knives, so, y'know, I can hook you up.

I love the Swiss.