The Houseguest has only been away on vacation for a little over half a day, and I’ve already superglued my hands together.
This doesn’t bode well for the next three weeks as I rely on her
in case when I do something dumb.
Too bad the Houseguest isn’t a nail polish kind of girl. I knew it was hopeless, but I checked her room for nail polish remover but came up empty. As this isn’t the first time I’ve superglued body parts together, you’d think I’d have my own bottle of nail polish remover by now. So, I had to do it the hard way. I’ve seen some gnarly and bloody pictures of hands, post superglue adhesion, but luckily, the bonded area on mine wasn’t large. Ever so slowly (and painfully), I was able to slowly work my hands apart. They are a bit tender but are no longer conjoined.
My friend Tiffany recently mentioned I need a Life Call button that elderly people use to call for help when they’ve fallen and can’t get up. Probably a good idea, but I’m going to pass for now.
In theory, I guess I could call my friends, but most of them are bastards. We all know I’d end up on Youtube with glued-together hands. Plus, it’s kind of difficult to dial a phone when you’ve welded your hands together with cyanoacrylate. Trust me, I know from first-hand experience. When I stuck my hands together in the early 1990s, I had a hell of a time dialing my roommate at work from a landline to ask where her nail polish remover was. She laughed and laughed and left me holding while she told the other girls in the office.
Anyway, not that anyone has probably noticed, but I’ve been missing in action for the past few weeks. I’ve been worried about this. Returning to the 9-to-5 grind has short-circuited my blogging. I haven’t even been visiting my favorite blogs (sorry guys, I mean to catch up). In my defense, I have started a couple of blog posts — I just haven’t finished them. There is my long-delayed post about strippers. And I started one about my on-again-off-again feud with Starbucks (technically, I don’t know if I can classify it as a feud since it’s one-sided and they don’t know anything about it — but I’ll cross that bridge later).
So, I thought this might be as good as time as any to post a short blurb as proof of life. I’ll try to post something else soon.
Considering my misadventure, I should probably advise work to send the police around to do a welfare check if I don’t show up one day because I’ve probably superglued myself to something. And they should tell them to bring some nail polish remover.
P.S. In case you’re wondering, the photo isn’t of my hand.
P.P.S. The Houseguest read the blog and checked in by text–apparently, she does have nail polish remover under the sink. Who knew?