True story: we once met my grandparents for a picnic at a state park midway between their house and ours, and grandma brought the food.
While slicing some ham for sandwiches, she paused, looked at her knife, then looked at me and my siblings and said, “I got this knife from a Guamanian woman. A friend of mine when your grandfather was stationed in Guam. She once used it to kill a Japanese soldier who was hiding in her house.” Then she nonchalantly continued making the sandwiches.
Of course we call it the “murder knife.” The murder knife remains in regular use in my sister’s kitchen; it was one of the more highly desired heirlooms from my grandparents’ estate.
