I wielded the pruning shears with reckless abandon today.
Really reckless abandon.
Somewhat too reckless, apparently.
This evening, when I attempted to use the can opener, I was suddenly in dire pain. The little tendons in the hand that grip Mr. Pinchy-thing* are the same tendons that grip Mr. Can Opener, and they informed that they were done for the day.
Defeated utterly by a can of beans--I had brains, but it had brawn, cumin, and chili spices--I abandoned my attempt to help with dinner and slunk back to my computer. I suspect that James thinks less of me. I threatened to open a can of whoopass at some point in the future when I could grip the can opener without whimpering.
*Hey! James calls it that too. I'm not weird.