When The D got home from church today, I took him to Central BBQ on Summer. His two sweet granddaughters took him there a month or so, and he liked it. So we went back today. It was good.
I'd had an epiphany about the glue problem. Lava soap! Wow - that would get anything off. So we stopped by Walgreens on the way home. No Lava. We were right by Lowe's, so I told The D we'd run in there. They'd have it for sure.
Before I tell you they didn't, I'll give you something to ponder. Why is it, when you go in there to find a simple little thing like a hallogen light bulb or those rubber washers to go into the hose nozzle, there's never anyone in a little red vest in sight? Or if they are, they look like rock stars surrounded by groupies waiting for an autograph. 89 year-old-lady-groupies clutching little lists or labels or strange little devices in their original boxes from 1942. It's like a big scavenger hunt when you go there. Except no prizes. Or snacks and desserts after.
Since the object of my hunt was a very simple item (but I still had no idea where to find it), there were several men in red vests standing around looking like they'd just stepped off the set for the commercial. Twinkling smiles and all. I really just wanted to ask one of them my stupid question, but the other two edged in closer. I said, "How do you get Gorilla Glue off your hands?" All six eyes zeroed in on my hands, and all three twinkling smiles turned into barely suppressed smirks. Which must've sent some kind of ultrasonic signal for two other red vests to appear.
It turned into a game show, and I was the emcee. Paint thinner. Nope. Turpentine. Nope. (Besides, isn't that the same thing?) Acetone. Nope. Tried it all. Then the old one, who was clearly the alpha vest of the pack, told me the paint thinner would do it, but I just needed to leave it on for a very long time. How long was that? I didn't even ask. I told him the label said to avoid prolonged exposure and to wash immediately if it came into contact with skin. Well, apparently, these guys all know more than the chemical companies. Actually, they might. The chemical companies are just afraid of getting sued. Still, I'm not gonna chance it. Besides, I already did and it didn't work.
I asked them where the Lava Soap was, and they said they didn't have it. Apparently, Lava soap no longer exists. But two of them escorted me to the aisle with hand cleaner kinda stuff. Mixed in with the foaming Soft Soap was a promising looking tub of special hand cleaner. The heir apparent to Alpha (does that make him Beta?), opened it up and stuck his finger it it. It looked like pistachio pudding. No grit. He said, "We need something with pumice." I said, "Yea, like Lava soap."
So I follow Alpha and Beta to some other random place, looking for pumice. Now, believe me, I've already thought of pumice. My cheese grater, too. I have a pumice stone my BFF brought me as a souvenir all the way from Hawaii. It's for pedicures. To scrub off the callouses on my heels from all the distance running I do. Hey, wonder if it's any coincidence that Hawaii has volcanoes and volcanoes make Lava and Lava soap contained pumice before it vanished from the face of the earth?
So I tell Alpha that pumice is also used for pedicures. But since I lost mine in the move, I'll buy theirs. He seemed perplexed. I explained that it scrubbed off callouses on your heels. He said, "Oh, corns." I said, "No, callouses." "Corns." "Callouses."
Why did I give a shit if Alpha knew the difference in a corn and a callous? At least I stopped short of explaining it. I think he could tell I was getting irritated because he finally said, "Ohhhh, callouses." Right.
By then, I was ready to get the hell out of the hell. Keep in mind, The Daddler was hovering around the whole time, grimacing and shaking his head. I halfway expected him to tell them I was adopted so they wouldn't think my daftness wasn't any reflection on his gene pool.
We made our way to the checkout and found one with no line. They really must've just filmed a commercial there. The D sat down in a lawn chair by the door and the cashier announced "Three dollars and five cents." I didn't want a bunch of change weighing down my purse, so I debated putting it on my credit card, and then it dawned on me. The Daddler gets a military discount. You'd have thought I hit the lottery. I shouted, wait, don't total it yet. He gets a military discount. Then I screamed, "Daddy, come here! Bring your military ID!" He looked pretty excited, too. Jumped right up and ran to the register. We waited with bated breath to hear the new total. $2.74. Wow! I'd only have a quarter and a penny and a whole extra dollar instead of 95 cents to lug around.
Then, get this. I was so happy about our savings that I practically skipped out the door until I hear a voice shouting, "Ma'am, wait!" Unfortunately, this happens to me all too frequently. I'd forgotten to take my stuff. Sad. The Daddler shook his head some more. So glad I didn't have to turn around and go back, though.
We stopped by the old house to check the mail and sat and visited with our older neighbors. The D was in rare form. For some reason, I mentioned that he liked milkshakes, and this is what he said. Verbatim. "That's all she ever gives me."
I don't even know what to say to that.
But I do know that I'm gonna wrap up this post, drive up to McDonalds, buy him a chocolate shake, put it in my cool, new plastic cup emblazoned with last night's VIP law firm's name. The base has flashing florescent lights and each time you push the button, they flash in a different pattern. I'm sure it's loaded with BSP's or whatever you call those same caustic chemicals in my reused Gatorade bottles. But after all the turpentine and acetone, I don't really give a shit. Oh, the point of the cool plastic cup is that I can't wait to see The Daddler's face when he sees that tonight's milkshake is flashing florescent colors.
Ohhh, I almost forgot the most important thing. I came up with a new idea after our little outing today. I'd soak cotton balls in acetone (nail polish remover) and wrap them around my fingernails (the glue is really bad there) and slide my hands into latex gloves. It was a little harder than you'd think to keep the cotton balls in place. So I cleverly dropped the cotton balls down into each finger of the glove. Then slid my hand in and tried to get the cotton balls in place. I figured I was too rough because I poked a hole in the end. Since I had another glove, I put it over that one. I stood there a minute, admiring my handiwork, trying to decide if I should risk my cell phone around the acetone (I worry about it more than my own body) and take a picture for my blog. Before I could decide, the glove ripped in two. And then it hit me. Acetone must dissolve latex.
You just have to laugh.
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