Confession, it is said, is good for the soul.

As I began to write this column, I wondered if I had the courage to come clean with everyone.

My soul (if I have one) may be rehabilitated by a bit of confessing, but will it be at the expense of my fragile ego? Confessing to a weakness has a way of exposing my foibles and I can only hope you will not think less of me than you already do.

I fell off the wagon on Sunday. You may have heard the thump as I hit the ground.

I gave in to an addiction and I'm not proud to admit it, but there's a 12-step program out there somewhere that says admitting your mistake is the first step on the road to recovery.

My fall from grace began innocently enough in a department store. I was waiting patiently outside the stalls where woman try on clothes as Carol slipped into and out of a half dozen dresses she was considering buying. We have a family wedding to attend in a week and she informed me she has nothing (I repeat, nothing) to wear that hasn't already been seen by her sisters at previous family functions.

As my eyes glazed over and I entered that male state similar to a vegetative coma, the store's PA system blared to life with an announcement that started me on the road to ruin.

"Attention all shoppers! Come to the furniture department in the next three minutes to receive your free paring knife."

I snapped out of my stupor and glanced at my watch. Two minutes and 45 seconds left and the clock was ticking. Did Carol hear the PA? Does she know they're giving away a knife? Can I sneak across the store and get back before she decides which dress (if any) is suitable?

You probably understand by now that my shameful secret is that I am a compulsory cutlery collector.

But I have been a good boy lately. I haven't even though of buying a new knife for months. I thought I had the terrible compulsion licked.

Like a drug dealer handing out free joints in a schoolyard, the knife salesman knew his stuff. He lured me across the store with that deadline taunt … "Only two minutes left. Get your free knife today."

When Carol exited the dressing room to ask my opinion of one of the party dresses, she found me AWOL and knew immediately where to find me. As she approached the small crowd gathered around the booth, I was oblivious to her presence. It was at this point that the salesman sawed into a claw hammer with his kitchen knife and then sliced a ripe tomato, gliding the blade through it like … well, like a knife through butter.

Minutes later I was the proud owner of six new Forever Sharp knives, plus two juice extractors, all for a mere $26.

You may have heard of Forever Sharp, or at least have seen the famous commercial where the knife cuts through a tin can and retains its ultra-keen edge.

Believe me, these babies are the real thing and I should know. I’m a knife nut. I have J.A. Henckels German knives made in Brazil and China, and even one from Germany. I own a Henckels potato peeler. Nothing but the best for me.

Years ago, I bought the Wilkinson Sword knives that came encased in their own plastic sharpener box.

Pretty multi-coloured handles and a neat half-moon shaped case are the best things about the Ikea knives that sit on my kitchen counter.

I also possess a klatch of kitchen cutters made by that famous company, Stainless Steel China. I seem to recall the complete set cost me about $10.

I have other various cleavers, chefs' knives, serrated bread knives, carving knives, boning knives, paring knives, peeling knives, butter knives, a cheese knife, and a pair of terrific steak knives from the Keg (a media freebie from a restaurant opening). My tackle box contains a Finnish filleting knife, a pen knife and a Swiss Army knife, complete with teeny, tiny scissors and a handy-dandy corkscrew.

Four prized knives in my collection of naked steel are Canadian-made, from the Grohmann company in Pictou, N.S., purchased when I lived in nearby New Glasgow. These handmade beauties with Rosewood grips have even been displayed in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, which may explain their price tag.

However, I’m convinced I have cured myself of my knife addiction. Forever Sharp knives are guaranteed forever, until the universe retreats and collapses into the granddaddy of black holes. If I leave nothing else to my children when I shuffle off into the Great Unknown, I will depart comforted knowing I have bequeathed to them my Forever Sharp blades.

Now it's off to knife rehab for me. But perhaps before I enroll, I may find a Wusthof Dreizackwerk cook's knife for $150 or maybe a William Henry set of five exquisite blades for $2,500.

Just kidding, dear.