Locked in

Locked inTime for another of those posts where I could just simply put a picture of me face-palming myself and captioning, “D’oh!”

It’s a hard thing, sometimes, to admit that I may be falsely claiming the title of homemaker. Every now and then, someone skewers my vanity with some totally obvious point of which I’ve been totally oblivious.

This time, it was the elder nieceling doing the puncturing.

During my last BBQ, for which she and her boyfriend were happy and appetite-fulfilled guests, she volunteered to take a care package to her Grandpa (he is always badgering me to get some ribs but all he has to do is show up once in a while).

During the final wrap-up, she pointed out to me that there are these little punch holes on the sides of the tin foil box that, when pushed in, act as a de facto lock on the roll inside, preventing that annoying yanking of the entire roll out of the box (yes, many times have I done that).

She then proceeded to punch the holes on all the boxes in my pantry (Saran, foil and wax). As she did it, she demonstrated as if I was either 4 or 94. Either way, it was a humbling take down of my homemaking knowledge.

I wondered how long these little tabs have been on the boxes (and, by extension, how long I’ve been wrestling with messed up rolls of foil and Saran). I couldn’t find any definitive answer, though apparently Reynolds has been adding them to their boxes since 1996.

Ah well, life is that much more interesting knowing that new learning can come from so many different sources.

On that sentiment, I am completely locked in.

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