keaton was struggling with a twist cap of some sort, using her trusty rubber gripping pad to no avail, unless you consider the explosion of blood vessels in her forehead an objective.
so i stepped in as i have done so many times before to offer my twist cap removal skills.
i announced (with a hint of manly swagger), let me help you with that me lady.
she said, oh my knight thank you.
(at least that's how i remember the exchange)
then she handed the jar over to me—her parting words, it goes the opposite way from what you'd expect.
as i gripped it in my man paw, she restated, it's counter-intuitive.
i began to apply serious, man-grunt pressure, when she scolded, turn it the opposite way.
i immediately reversed direction and off it came cleanly.
i handed it over to her.
i think she was pleased with the result but i'm positive she was stupefied by my listening ability.
i could tell because she makes a face for stupidfied—a face i have observed countless times before, to which i pleaded, what?
she answered, well, it's not me. that's what.
to which i made my smugness face, leaving us locked in a couple's deadly face-off of sorts, even though all the while we both knew she was right.