This stuff sure sticks. Man, does it stick.
The gift is not a major investment of money.
Hey, I bought it. Maybe my tightness is not as monumental as Jack Bennys
(except if you ask my kids), but neither am I Elvis (who gave away Cadillacs).
This stuff sure sticks. Man, does it stick.
The gift is not a major investment of money.
Hey, I bought it. Maybe my tightness is not as monumental as Jack Bennys
(except if you ask my kids), but neither am I Elvis (who gave away Cadillacs).
It is the thought that counts, and the thought is in three relatively small
pieces rather than its original one. Two blades of the Dutch windmill have broken
free during their journey from there to here. The choices are three: Give it
to my friend in its present three pieces, showing that I did think of her; try
gluing them back together and acting as though nothing has happened; trash it.
Paragraph two explains why I chose option two.
Sitting at the desk in my home office, the super glue stuff is carefully opened.
The pieces are arranged within reach. The tube is squeezed ever so slightly
and glue shoots out over the thumb, index finger and middle finger of both hands.
Do not ask me how, just trust me, it happened. You have been there.
The tiniest piece is picked up and placed in the appropriate notch of the largest
piece. Fits perfectly. After an appropriate time of setting up, the piece is
affixed securely – to my right thumb, index finger and middle finger –
but not to the larger piece of “bone plastic.”
Not to worry, the left thumb, index finger and middle finger are affixed to
the larger piece. Does this qualify for disability?
My wifes laughter helps not at all.
Eventually, the digits of my hand are worked free from the windmill pieces.
Blood will not look good on the windmill, but the words of Winston Churchill
keep ringing in my ears: “Never, never, never, never quit.”
Eventually, the little pieces are firmly glued to the windmills hub.
Only careful examination reveals the repaired breaks. My fingers of both hands
are as firmly glued to each other.
“Could you possibly stop giggling long enough to
tell me if there is some way to get this stuff off?” I ask my wife.
She gains her composure long enough to say, “Fingernail polish remover,
maybe.”
I arise from the desk to find it myself.
Uh-oh. A couple of drops of glue fell to the plastic mat under my chair and
my foot has been securely glued to the mat.
“Honneeey.”
Eventually, my foot is worked free leaving only a minimal amount of skin on
the mat.
A bottle of fingernail polish remover later, my fingers only look like I am
turning into alligator man with large, scaly-looking pigmentation.
To be honest, the only object that sticks faster to the wrong things is my
desire. Some of the things in life I want less to be attached to are the very
things that end up getting stuck to me. “For that which I am doing, I do
not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing
the very thing I hate . . . For the good that I wish, I do not do; but I practice
the very evil that I do not wish.” (Romans 7:15; 19.) Thats right.
Everything from fattening foods to lustful attitudes. And getting rid of them
on my own seems virtually impossible.
Thank God, there is a solvent of redemption that helps us get on with what
God wants us to be, free from the things that destroy.
“How much is a bottle of fingernail polish remover?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.