Smile-breaks
Press in – tear back
"Pull Here." I'm pulling! Five times I've pulled and six times I've yanked. One little circle of cardboard is fiercely protecting the contents of the peanut butter jar. It doesn't budge. Not one bit.
Five minutes later, giving up the struggle, it's time for that lethal weapon waiting in the silverware drawer, ready to come to the rescue and free the peanut butter. This time I don't pull or yank; this time I jab. Jab the point of the knife into the middle of that stubborn cardboard piece. Three jabs and a few pulls of the cardboard off the lip gets me in and I now have access to chunky, crunchy peanut butter.
Why? Why do they do that? It's not just the peanut butter. Of course not. It's everything in the food world—almost. The cracker box says, "Open here;" the macaroni box says very clearly, "Press in," and on the other side, "Tear back." You can press in all day and the cardboard doesn't give an inch. The orange juice bottle has a very convenient half-circle piece of cellophane atop its protective cardboard foil, indicating a quick way to remove the cardboard foil that keeps you from pouring out the juice. The first time it popped right off, that semi-circle did its job!
Since then, nuh-uh. The foil sits right where it is while the cellophane tab slips out of my fingers—every time. I dry the tab and my fingers and try again. No slippage this time! I pull hard. Six pulls later, I go back to the lethal weapon.
"Sealed for freshness" says the mayonnaise cover cardboard. No hints as to how to un-seal it. If you look real closely, there are three tiny "tabs" spaced evenly around the circle-of-no-entrance protecting the contents. No way! You couldn't hold one of those tabs if you were tiny as an ant. They're 1/8 of an inch, if that. Lots of jars have this same cover lid.
Moving on. . . You take vitamins now and then? Good luck getting out that cotton batting stuffed way down in the bottle, where you can't reach it with two fingers to pinch it and pull it up. And it's tougher than you-know-what to pull it out with one finger.
And then my—NOT—favorite opener. The tab on the can. That one that's firmly pressed against the lid so close you have to pry it up with a knife to get your finger under it and THEN it's supposed to pull back and off the can, taking the lid with it. No sweat.
Except I just can't do it. Pure stubbornness gets the tab up, with the help of the leverage of a knife, but I cannot—cannot!—pull that dang thing off. And I really want that yummy onion dip in the can. I pull the tab back; I pull the tab forward; I pull the tab straight up.
For some cans I have a Plan B: turn the can upside down and open it with my electric can opener, but this only works if the bottom of the can is configured normally, meaning no curved ridges to foil the can opener. Most cans now have those curvy ridges on the bottom. Can openers don't like those; they refuse to latch onto them.
So, now. I really want that onion dip. Time to call in the Expert. "Christy!" I holler. She walks calmly over, looks at the unopened can with the tab on the counter, lifts the tab, pulls it, and walks away, leaving the now-open can behind.
Good luck with your next opening.