There was a time, not too long ago, when I would've bristled at the idea of getting a knife set for Christmas. While I don't hate cooking, I don't especially love it, either; I could think of much better things to do with my money than spend it on cutlery. So I used the cheap stuff, never realizing there are people out there who actually chop potatoes without getting tennis elbow.

About three years ago, my mom gave me a good, expensive kitchen knife. It was a carving knife, not much bigger than a steak knife, and it amazed me. It sliced through everything like butter, and it was my faithful kitchen companion. I used it daily, never once in three years needing to sharpen it. I kept my cheap knives in the cheap block on the counter, but I never pulled them out.

A few months ago, my good knife disappeared. Vanished. Let us not dwell on the creepy possiblities of a mega-sharp knife disappearing, even if it does sound like the first 15 minutes of a Lifetime movie.

A couple of weeks ago, I was watching a television show, and a pharmaceutical commercial came on. It showed children playing happily in a park, running through sprinklers, radiating rosy-cheeked good health. Then the announcer ominously spoke:

"This is how [scary disease name] can look just 24 hours before it takes a child's life."

Well.

Was that really necessary, Giant Pharmaceutical Company? Did you think it was important to demonstrate visually the horror of a healthy child becoming sick very quickly? Are you hoping to scare me into considering your product?

I was especially behind -- on everything -- one day last week, and I rifled through my desk, alternating between the computer, the calendar and an oppressive stack of papers. At bus drop-off, the boys exploded through the door the way they always do -- noise, papers, backpacks, coats, the smell of pencils.

They assaulted the snack cabinet while I continued my work. “Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled, in a half answer to their comments. “Sure,” I answered, dangerously, to a question or two I hadn’t really heard.

1. The likelihood that a child will wake up with a stomachache is directly proportional to the difficulty of his spelling test later that day.

2. No matter how many socks you put in your dryer, only 30% of them will come out. For example, if you put in ten socks, you'll get three out. Curiously, if you put in no socks, at least 12 will come out.

I’m a lifelong Southerner and a former English major; as both, I’m little embarrassed to make the following admission.

Until now, I’ve never read To Kill a Mockingbird.