Batman and The Joker.
The Hatfields and McCoys.
Sister Rain and Twist Ties.
The great foe of my life is not blindness but a tiny wire wrapped in plastic that keeps my bread fresh. It packs a double punch every time I want a piece of toast or should I be so bold, a sandwich.
The first attack. As I try to untwist the tie, all I seem to do is make it tighter. I force myself to remain calm and slowly attempt turning it the other way. This direction yields the same result but how can that be? Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty noey workey.
Sweating, frustrated and enraged, I am considering the use of scissors or ripping the bag apart a la the Incredible Hulk. My opponent knows my breaking point and as I am about to enact one of these two plans, the tie begins to loosen.
The second attack. After I have retrieved the slices, having carefully placed the twist tie on the white drain board to the right of my sink, I reach for the tie. It’s not there. I had specifically placed it where I was sure to find it, but now, having lost the battle but determined to win the war, my archenemy has hidden and lays in wait.
I feel all around the counter. No tie. I bend down and slide my hand over the floor. No tie. Ten times out of ten, I am forced to call for backup. My fully-sighted husband finds the tie and gently reminds me that there is no crying in sandwich making and although I feel defeated, the proof of my victory is the bread I have freed and plated.
Like friends, enemies come in all different packages. Mine, quite literally.
