Licking food off a knife makes you cruel

Setting: A cozy Moscow apartment. Snow falls gently outside the window. Dima and Alexei are in the kitchen. A kettle whistles as Dima prepares tea and Alexei is spreading jam on toast — with a knife.

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Alexei (absently licks jam off the knife):
Mmm. Raspberry. You really can’t beat your babushka’s jam, Dima.

Dima (visibly horrified):
Alexei! Don’t lick the knife! What are you, a serial killer in training?

Alexei (laughs):
What? You scared I’ll stab someone with sugar?

Dima (serious tone):
It’s bad. Licking a knife is a sure way to turn cruel. My grandmother swore by it. Said every mean man she knew started with jam on a blade.

Alexei (smirking):
Maybe they were just hungry and underpaid, not psychotic. Dima, come on — you don’t actually believe licking a knife makes you a monster?

Dima:
I don’t want to believe, but… every time I see someone do it, something inside me cringes. It just feels wrong. Like breaking a mirror or walking under a ladder.

Alexei:
Yeah, it feels wrong because it’s sharp metal near your face. Your brain’s saying, “Don’t lick that!” — not because it turns you cruel, but because you might lose your tongue.

Dima (raising an eyebrow):
And yet here you are, casually French-kissing cutlery.

Alexei (grinning):
You’re making it sound kinkier than it is. Look, Dima, superstition often comes from practical warnings. Like, don’t lick a knife because it’s dangerous. Somewhere along the line, that turned into “You’ll become evil.” It’s like old software — outdated but still running in your head.

Dima:
Maybe. But don’t you think some things — some habits — carry… energy? Like how people say food made with anger tastes bad?

Alexei:
Sure. That’s psychology. If someone yells at you while cooking, you’re going to associate the food with tension. Doesn’t mean the soup is cursed.

Dima (sighs):
It’s not just the knife. My cousin Vika once licked a knife at dinner. Two weeks later, she broke up with her fiancé, keyed his car, and moved to Bali with a tattoo artist named Igor.

Alexei (mock gasp):
The knife strikes again! Or maybe Vika just realized her fiancé was boring and Igor had better abs?

Dima (laughing despite himself):
You always have an explanation.

Alexei:
I just prefer logic over legends. Doesn’t mean I disrespect traditions. I won’t force you to lick a knife.

Dima (suddenly sly):
But I dare you to lick the butter knife at New Year’s dinner in front of my aunt Olga.

Alexei (mock horror):
What, and risk being cursed and disowned? No way. Your family treats superstition like a second religion.

Dima:
Exactly. You can mess with logic, but don’t mess with Olga’s borscht rules.

Alexei (raising his mug):
To knives, jam, and surviving old Russian wisdom.

Dima (clinking mugs):
And to keeping our tongues — and our souls — intact.

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[They both laugh as the kettle whistles again, filling the kitchen with warmth, steam, and just a hint of inherited superstition.]