peaches and strawberries

For four straight days now, I've been trying to open a bottle of preserved strawberries. I've tried every trick in the book. I've used all my strength (which I admit is not very much) to turn the lid to where the arrow says "open" that my hand has actually been hurting for days (four days, specifically). I've heated the edges of the lid, supposedly to make the metal expand (at least that would be my explanation if someone asks me what the hell I'm doing). I've tapped the edges of the lid with the dull end of the knife a thousand times (for this I don't really have a scientific explanation but I just remember someone doing it back home). And still, the bottle sits in front of me, unopened. Those luscious red strawberries mock me as I see them yummily squeezed together in sweet syrup. I am droooooooling.

Stubborn Strawberries actually had a companion. Together with Pretty Peaches (I don't know, I just want an alliteration here), I bought SS from my friendly neighbors who own the grocery store on the ground floor. Yes, the same store where I bought my still, after all this time, unidentified flavored milk from months back. Anyway, PP (oops, that definitely doesn't sound nice) also gave me a hard time at the start. It took me two days to get her to surrender her... wait a minute, do I dare write it? ...her pure plump goodness for my pleasure. (Hahaha! I have to laugh. Sorry about that.) It was the knife-tapping (ooh, phallic symbol!) that eventually did it. (Well, well, there must be a scientific explanation then.) Which is why in between sentences, I would have to pause and tap tap tap the hell out of SS's lid.

It is moments like this that I almost wish there is a man in the house. (Not so he could tap tap tap the strawberries nor the peaches, godforbid!) Or at least that I don't live alone. That way there'll be someone to share the problem with. Or, even better, I can conveniently pass the problem to someone else as the someone else in question finds a solution for it. Not like now when I could only helplessly stare at them damn berries through the glass (drooling by myself) as my hand gets as red as these horribly sumptious seductively sweet strawberries just barely out of my tongue's reach.

Seriously, I would really want this friggin bottle opened. The only other solution I can think of is to run downstairs and have my neighbors open it for me. By tomorrow, I just might do that. I think they're closed for the night. 

*Because I am aware that you, Nuna, would want revenge. I generously supplied the Freudian reading rather than have you do it for me. :p

**I promise to post a worthier entry next time. For now, it was either this or my friendster horoscope. You know what I chose. Yawn. Off to bed.