Real men use their fingers...

A camping shop in Cornwall. I am drifting up and down the aisle, brow furrowed in concentration. The shop is full of serious outdoor-living men, who are all shopping for serious outdoor-living equipment: tents that can survive a force 7 storm, rucksacks that can save your back from breaking in the event of a cliff fall, hermetically sealed bio-nutrient bars that will allow you to survive for days in the desert - that kind of thing.
I really feel quite out of place. I am not a serious outdoor-living type. I am not, in fact, any kind of  'outdoor living type'. I dislike mud and rain and nature; I much prefer the comforts of home: books, Nintendo, the Internet, ready access to Salt'n'vinegar Hula Hoops and a nice cheeseboard, soft toilet paper, etc etc.
Nonetheless, I am browsing in the camping shop, because it looks like it may be the only place for miles that has what I need: I am shopping for a knife.
I am also hoping I can find one with minimal fuss, quickly purchase it and then leave with no questions being asked: I really do not want to have to explain what I am doing in there in front of all the survivalist types. Sadly, the shop assistant has other ideas...
"Can I help you sir?" she asks. She is, as you may expect, also a serious-outdoor living type. She is broad and strong and tattooed - almost fearfully so. I suspect she may have been suckled by wolves.
"Um, no, that's all right..." I say.
"It's just that it can be bit hard to find things in here", she adds with cheerful persistence. "We carry so much stock.."
What the hell, I think, if I keep my query general enough it might speed things up...
"Where do you keep your knives?" I ask.
Her eyes light up. "Fishing or camping? she asks. I notice that some of the various survivalist types in the shop have overheard and are now taking a passing interest: I suspect that they all have a knife on them - they look the type. In fact, some of them look like they always sleep with a knife close to hand, and perhaps have even given that knife a pet name and like to talk to it at night.
"Um, camping? I think..." I manage to say.
She begins to lead me towards the display of lethal weapons I noticed beneath the glass counter when I first walk in. Sadly, I know this is not what I am looking for.
"Ah, no, I don't really need a sharp-bladed knife.." I say
The shop assistant pauses, confused. This obviously sounds like nonsense - why would I want a knife without a sharp blade? "What do you need a knife for, then,?" she asks.
Here it comes, I think. I clear my throat.
"I need it to spread houmos on bread," I say.
She looks at me blankly. I hasten to explain further:
"You see, my wife and children are outside - we are having a picnic. And my wife has brought this houmus, and also some nice brie, but forget to pack a knife. So I can't spread either of them on the bread she brought..."
The shop assistant continues to look at me as if I am raving mad.
"Of course, I can just tear the bread," I say, as if that somehow demonstrates my outdoor survival skills. "But you can't really spread houmos with your fingers...well, I don't think you can, anyway. My wife says I'm being fussy, but your shop was just here, and..."
"You want a picnic knife," the assistant says flatly, though the faint note of disdain in her voice is unmistakable.
"Yes..."
"This way please..."
A few minutes later, I rejoin my wife outside. I notice that most of the houmos has already been eaten, as has a large proportion of the bread. My wife looks up at me expectantly, so I hold up my purchase: a large pack of bright yellow picnic cutlery which has cost me about three times what I was hoping to spend.
"What have you brought all that for?" she asks, puzzled.
"It was all they had. I figured we might use them again.On other picnics..."
She shrugs. "Normally I just bring our standard knifes if we need one."
"Yes," I agree, pointedly. "Normally you do..."

PS: Apparently that really is how you spell 'houmos' (or at least, one of the ways).  I still think it looks wrong, but then (and now you should brace yourself for some comedy gold)...it's all Greek to me.