I woke up this morning feeling productive. I made a delicious breakfast (Fruit Loops), went for a morning run (made it to the corner today, whoo!) and did several hours of extensive research for future columns - three hours of cartoons and a bowl of ice cream.
But now it came time to do something really useful. The interior door handle of my car had been coming loose, and rather than have someone intelligent look at it, I decided to fix it myself. So I went out with my little bottle of superglue and went to work.
I was holding the handle in place to dry and felt pretty proud of myself. Now I would treat my car to a good wash, wax and vacuum before taking her out for a night on the town. But that was before I tried to stand up.
I had glued myself to my car. I hadn't realized it while I was holding the door handle in place, but the glue had smeared all over my hand, and I was now stuck with my hand tightly clenched around the handle and would be for the next several hours.
My brother was the only other person home. After several minutes of screaming, he finally came out to help."" But being the little darling he is, he spent the first 10 minutes lying on the ground laughing, another 15 searching for a camera and yet another five making sure there was enough photographic evidence that this little escapade would never be forgotten. He patted my head lovingly and said, ""Only you, dear sister, only you."" Then he left for
his girlfriend's house.
But before leaving, he set a bottle of fingernail polish remover - which will take superglue right off your skin - just out of reach. He also left my laptop, because even for a little jackass who can't type, he
knows a good column in the making.
So here I sit, typing away, all the while trying to reach the bottle of remover with my toes.
It seems far too often things happen to me that ""only I"" can do. I get locked out of my car and my house at the same time. I go for a paddleboat ride and the paddle breaks off, leaving me to swim a half mile to shore tugging a damn boat behind me. And, of course, there was the night I was almost abducted by an a cappella group, but I hear that is becoming more common.
But all this reminiscing was getting my big toe no nearer to the bottle of remover. And, of course, as I am breaking sweat and most likely tearing muscles in my foot, my parents finally arrive home. And it seems, in an effort to assure the entire community that I am mentally lacking, they've brought home friends - including my boyfriend's parents.
My face red with embarrassment and all their faces red from laughter, my dad was finally gracious enough to roll the bottle within my grasp. Never have I scrubbed my hands so hard. I ran inside and hid in my room. Even the powerful fumes of nail polish remover didn't make me feel any better.
When I finally crawled from my room for dinner, my family sat around the table with giggles barely suppressed. I stared hard at my plate, knowing it was only a matter of time before someone said something. Things were going OK, and my brother asked me to pass the potatoes. I did, and with a big, stupid grin he said, ""Gee thanks, Meg, you're super.""
I threw down my utensils. If they were going to make jokes, they could at least make good ones. I ran outside to hop in my car; if I couldn't have a peaceful meal at home, I would just go out to eat. I slammed the door, and the door handle that had held me captive all day fell off into my lap. I stared for a moment, and then slammed my head onto the steering wheel. Even the loud HOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK could not drown out the laughter from the house.
If you ever have incredibly stupid things happen to you but are smarter than Megan and don't share them with the entire student body, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
