The Big Ax
I yelled at her, “You have to hit him hard, Dummy!” She yelled at me, “This is the little ax, Dummy; the big one’s sitting right there, why didn’t you get that one?” To which I yelled back, “Well fine, give me the big one then, and I’ll do it if you’re that scared of him!” So we switched places and I picked up The Big Ax. I raised the thing over my head, and discovered it was a lot heavier than I had expected.
When Gram came home, there stood two beaming girls, both splattered in red, presenting her with approximately half a chicken. “You girls killed him all by yourselves?!!!” We proudly nodded, grinning ear to ear. She took him from us, and held the body over the sink to finish draining while we told her the first part of the story. She looked at us strangely, then said, “I just took the ax in to get it sharpened. What did you use?” Sister showed her the Little Ax we had started with, and Gram stared at us in amazement. “Girls,” she said, “That blade couldn’t cut through butter. Do you see how rusty it is? How did you manage to kill him with it?” We knew by her tone that we must have done something wrong, but we weren’t sure what it was, because the proof that our method worked was lying in the sink.
So, thinking we would redeem ourselves, we told her the second part of the story, and she demanded to see The Big Ax. When she saw what we brought in, she collapsed into hysterical giggles, which we couldn’t understand. But then again, Gram laughed about just about everything we did, so we just chalked this up to more adult weirdness.
She finally wiped her eyes and said to me, “Honey, this is a slitting maul; this is what I use to cut firewood with. It’s a wonder you didn’t chop your sister’s hand off.” Oh.