One day not long ago, I bought a loaf of delicious cheese and onion bread. I brought it home and opened the drawer to take out the serrated knife, only to discover that the serrated knife was gone.
My roommate had returned to the house long enough to remove her good knives and bring them to her boyfriend's house, where she spends nearly all of her time. (She hasn't slept here since before Christmas.)
It is a sad, sad thing to go back to one little paring knife for every type of cutting. I lived this way for nearly three years in Gone West, I know, but the mangled chunks of cheese and onion bread seem less tolerable after a year and a half with good knives.
This from a girl who lived for two years in Rwanda with a two-burner gas hot plate in lieu of stove/oven/microwave/toaster and never once bothered to find a way to replace the knobs that had fallen off, which I'm sure would not have been hard. I just pushed and twisted the little metal pieces to turn the burners on.
(Parents! I see a birthday/Christmas gift opportunity! Because I doubt that I will ever get around to buying my own knives. Ever.)