57: Weasel words
In the only summer between high school and almost college, I sold kitchen knives from a catalog of them. It just seemed I always couldn't convince people to buy much, but still at last I finally did convince myself these were surely quite the best of the knives at any huge price. I found I did even once get my mom to order a jackknife for my dad's birthday. I think the thing came in the mail; I know the package was in the car as my mom drove me to the airport for, I understand, a huge church missions trip. In the passenger seat I grinned and opened up the knife, perhaps to demonstrate the little safety mechanism, and in the weak attempt I saw I suddenly strangely sliced open my thin soft palm. And then next summer again I sometimes merely sold great donuts from behind a big counter with a smile and a shrug and a nod.
Weasel words taken from Refuse to Be Done: How to Write and Rewrite a Novel in Three Drafts by Matt Bell