Isn’t that chisel a little dull?” Jamie stood in the workshop watching me tap the chisel with my hammer. “Don’t you need to sharpen it a little more before you hurt yourself?”
“Hey,” I stood up straight, brushing the wood chips from my shirt. “Just who’s boat is this anyway?” I bent down and started paring with the tool again. “If I want to work with a dull chisel, it’s my prerogative.”
“Isn’t that word a little big for you to be using?” she said.
Just then, the chisel slipped, nicked my finger, and sliced it open. After a few moments, the clean yellow wood on my boat was spotted with flecks of bright red.
“Dammit!” I screamed, throwing down the chisel, holding my finger. “You jinxed me Jamie. You hexed me.”
She turned on her heel to walk inside.
“Jamie-Richburg-Sassy-Martin-Dietrich,” I called out to her. “Did you hear what I just said to you?”
“Yes, I heard you,” she turned to look at me, then shrugged. “If I want to hex you, that’s my prerogative.”