There’s a story behind everything … not every story is a good one. Some are, some aren’t. I will let you, the reader, be the judge of this one.
Meet my Swiss Army Knife:
After Eve and I got married in 1990 we lived for about 3 years in her hometown of Bristol/Kenosha, Wisconsin. We had a good friend there, named Kevin* (names have been changed to protect the innocent). Kevin was married to Lucy, a very sweet woman. Kevin was a bit younger than Eve and I. A really kind and genuine guy, though at times a bit of a know-it-all (though at times, aren’t we all?).
One day Kevin happened to be hanging out in our house and he happened to come across my Swiss Army Knife. He pointed to it and began to laugh out loud, quite heartily I might add. He then picked it up, held it as if it was a turd and proclaimed “this isn’t a ‘GENUINE’ Swiss Army Knife like mine.” He then placed mine down and whipped his out of his pocket. His Swiss Army Knife, which he held quite proudly, dwarfed mine in size. He then proceeded to explain, in incredible detail, why his Swiss Army Knife was the real deal and mine was some sort of imitation knockoff. He first pointed out how the red cross symbol on mine wasn’t accurate, versus his. Then he went through the numerous tools and devices on his that mine lacked. In fact, I think his could have been issued by MI6 since it had so many different tools and implements. The color of mine was wrong, as was the shape. And on and on he went …. literally for about 5 minutes or so.
After he finished his thorough dissertation on how my Swiss Army Knife was a cheap imitation fake and his was the real deal I paused for a moment and then asked him one simple question.
Me: “Kevin, where did you buy your ‘GENUINE’ Swiss Army Knife?”
Me: “I bought mine in Switzerland.”
Kevin, to his credit, laughed.
End of story.