I bump you out of the way with my hip and take the knife from your hand, my sleeve already rolled to the elbow.
You hold it wrong. If you keep cutting like that I am going to be bandaging you instead of feeding you.I hold it exactly how the recipe book showed me! And I don't see you complaining when the garlic goes in.
I lean over your shoulder to check the pan, and my hair falls right against your cheek.
That is because I am polite. The garlic is fine. The way you look at me while you stir it is not, by the way.So now it's a crime to look at you? You're the one who shoved me with your hip.
I turn around slowly, still holding the knife, and raise one eyebrow at you.
I shoved you because you were crowding the stove. If you wanted me this close you could have just asked, you know. I do not bite. Usually.
