Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
My son at 11 mos. or so threw up on me every day just as I was leaving for work. You would think I’d have figured out a way to keep clean until I slid out the door, but no, I’d get dressed and be ready and the next thing I’d no I’d have a nice stripe of baby carrots or curdled milk or something all over me.
So it was habit that I’d dress, undress, redress and go . . . except one day when a blouse I put on the second time had a collar that was flipping up on one side. There was no time to look for another - so . . . I plugged in the iron . . .
and ironed my collar . . . whilst wearing it . . . the iron shot up from the collar and onto my neck (for some distance) like it was greased lightening. That was over 20 years ago and in the right light you can still see the scar. . .
Recently my husband broke a front tooth eating spareribs. The fault line was perfectly angled and one triangular piece broke off. Of course he broke it on a Sunday evening and on Monday he had a big presentation to give . . . So, I tested it first by placing the broken piece against the tooth - it matched perfectly!
So I told my husband to trust me, that I knew what I was doing - and I applied super glue to the broken piece. He sat with his mouth wide open as I held the tooth in place, blowing gently on the glue to speed it’s curing.
It would have worked perfectly, I swear! Well it would have worked if a little trickle of super glue hadn’t squooshed out between to the two edges and dribbled down onto my finger. That’s right, it dripped onto the finger that was holding the broken piece in place.
If he’d had any sense of humour at all, we could have gone to the dentist with me appearing to lead him around by one finger. It appears he doesn’t.
A line in a song on the radio said, “You don’t spit into the wind.” I wondered why and tried it.
Look on the bright side, it could have talked about pissing into the wind. :eek:
The back door of my SUV lifts up, like a very large hatch back. Or it did before the last snow, when something happened to it (maybe water and ice formed in the hinge? or maybe I smacked it with the broom while clearing the roof?) which has since prevented it from opening properly.
The problem, whatever it is, is on the top of the door, and if I try to force it open, the plastic of the back window begins to crack.
What I need to do is get on a step ladder, and open it a little in order to see what is catching. This is very difficult to do while keeping your 2.5 year old from dashing through the hole in the fence to the 7/11 parking lot.
So one night after she went to sleep, I strapped my headlight to my forehead, tucked the nursery monitor in my pocket, grabbed a step stool, and headed out to solve this problem.
Now, on a hatch back this big and heavy, there is a hydraulic thingy on each side to help you lift it. In order to help it close completely, the hydraulic thingies let go when you get it within about ten inches of shutting.
So, I’m on the side of the vehicle, on my stool, with one thumb hooked under the hatchback and watching the hinges as I slowly lift it up and down. On the fourth or fifth pass, I let it go too far down, and it slammed shut on my thumb, partially latching.
OWWWWWWWWCHIIIEEEEE! Did I mention it’s 10:00pm and there’s not a light on anywhere in the cul-de-sac?
It turned out to be a bit like a scene from “Saw”. (Or what I understand Saw to be,) in that stepping down from the stool, and reaching the handle at the center of the door required twisting my elbow at a gawdawful angle and then actually leaning against the door in order to get my big behind close enough to lift on the handle.
In the process I ripped about .5 square inch of skin off one side of the thumb. Fortunately the veins weren’t crushed, but there is still a funny prickling sensation any time I touch the crushed area.
Door still doesn’t work.
Tell me, have you ever heard of a thought experiment? 
Someone gifted me this lovely, wooden, carved box. It was the perfect size to hold wooden matches. And, I could cut the striking strip off the cardboard box and stick in inside the lid, so when you opened it, to get a match, there it was. I liked it, it held a large box of wooden matches perfectly. I’ve been using it, since the woodstove came, a couple of years, anyway.
Last night I had a fire stacked, was standing in front of the open door, picked up the box, just like always, took out a match and struck it. I didn’t see anything but some bit must have flown off the end of the match I was striking and ignited the ones in the box, which was full!
It happened in like a split second. I reacted very quickly snapping the lid down hard, I was just about to toss the whole thing into the woodstove, but I didn’t hear anything else. I ended up taking it out, into the snowy yard, and opening it up. Such a small box, such a lot of smoke. When I put the matches into the box, it’s in two piles. Only one had caught fire but every single match in that stack had ignited. Made my heart race, I’ll tell you. It happened in but a few seconds, really.
It would seem there is a very good reason why the striker is always on the outside of the packaging. Indeed.