Giving knives, scissors, or any sharp objects as gifts is believed to cut the relationship

[Scene: A cozy kitchen in Seville, Spain. Sunlight filters through lace curtains. The smell of café con leche fills the air. Lucía is wrapping a birthday gift at the table. Carmen walks in with a small paper bag.]

Carmen:
¡Buenos días, Lucía! I brought you something for your new apartment!

Lucía:
Ooh, a housewarming gift! What is it? (grinning)

Carmen:
(smirking) Open it and find out.

Lucía:
(tears the paper, sees a sleek stainless steel kitchen knife)
Carmen! Are you trying to destroy our friendship?

Carmen:
(laughs) What? It’s a beautiful knife! Japanese steel, precision cut. I thought of you when I saw it.

Lucía:
You thought of me… and decided to stab our relationship in the heart?

Carmen:
Oh, come on. You can’t seriously believe that a knife can cut our friendship. It’s not a voodoo doll.

Lucía:
(sits dramatically) You don’t understand. My abuela told me—never give knives or scissors as gifts. It severs the bond. My cousin Marta gave her best friend scissors once, and now they haven’t spoken in three years!

Carmen:
That’s because Marta always borrows clothes and never returns them. I’d stop talking to her too.

Lucía:
(chuckles) True… but still. The knife gift is asking for trouble. The tradition exists for a reason.

Carmen:
Yes, but the reason is symbolic. It’s not like atoms rearrange and suddenly make people hate each other. Superstitions often come from old customs, not science. Think about it—when you give someone salt, do you also believe if you spill it, you must throw it over your shoulder?

Lucía:
Yes. And I do! Every time. Right shoulder. It’s bad luck otherwise.

Carmen:
Lucía… that’s just seasoning the floor.

Lucía:
(laughing) Okay, okay. But some traditions have meaning, Carmen. They’re cultural glue.

Carmen:
Sure, I respect tradition. I do. But shouldn’t we also question the ones that make us anxious over nothing? Giving a knife doesn’t destroy friendship. What matters is why you gave it. I gave it because I know you’re passionate about cooking. You always say, “A dull knife is a danger to a good meal.”

Lucía:
A sharp knife and a sharp tongue—what a gift.

Carmen:
(laughs) Look, if you’re really worried, we can do what some people do. You give me a coin in return. That way, it’s like you “bought” the knife. Boom—superstition bypassed.

Lucía:
Hmm. A coin. Like one of those tiny five cent ones?

Carmen:
Exactly. I won’t even cash it in for churros.

Lucía:
Alright… deal. But if we fight in six months, I’m blaming the knife.

Carmen:
Only if it talks back to you. Then we both have bigger problems.

Lucía:
(grinning) You’re impossible.

Carmen:
And you’re delightful—even if slightly cursed.

[They both burst into laughter as Lucía reaches for her coin jar and tosses Carmen a five-cent piece.]

Lucía:
Here. One shiny coin. Now we’re safe?

Carmen:
Safer than ever. And when you slice your first tomato with it, toast to friendship and logic.

Lucía:
Fine. But if I spill the salt, I’m still throwing it.

Carmen:
You do you. Just don’t slip on it.

[They clink their coffee mugs together, still giggling.]

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End Scene.