Okay, it’s not Friday 13th — technically, anyway. I seem to have rather a lot of those ,so I don’t necessarily look too closely at the calendar most days. At the moment I’m not so much unstuck as unhinged, but I thought this post, written over three years ago, strikes the right mood now as it did then. So I’ll run it by you again. Cheers! MM
I thought I had insured myself against any further–unexpected--Friday 13th nastiness by arranging to have a root canal at 8:30 A.M. And it worked pretty well for most of the day. In fact, I was having an unusually good day (after the root canal, that is). Oh, sure, the heat pump guy didn’t show up, but I can’t say I was too surprised about that–he had already demonstrated a substantial measure of unreliability–so, although that was annoying, it didn’t detract too much from my otherwise-pretty-good day.
It wasn’t until around 7 P.M. that things came unglued. Well, glued, actually. Here’s what happened. I have quite a few picture framing jobs to do, including repairing several old frames and making some new ones. Now that I’ve finally painted that wall successfully, I am keen to re-arrange some pictures and generally take advantage of the fact that I seem to be ‘on a roll’ with such projects. Hah! So, in view of the large number of frames involved, I purchased a considerable amount of equipment to upgrade my picture-framing arsenal. In other words, I spent a lot of dosh, so now I’ve gotta get on with the job!
I read all the instructions and watched the video that came with my new gear. Then I started with a fairly simple repair job, involving taking the broken frame apart, re-gluing it, and so on. Now, here’s where it starts to get sticky. I went out into the workshop to get the (rather large) jug of PVA glue. Surprisingly enough–given the current state of the workshop–I had no trouble finding it. I hadn’t used it in a while, so I gave it an ever-so-gentle squeeze to see if it was still usable–not hardened with disuse (as some of us tend to be). Well, that was a mistake. The whole thing exploded in my hand and glue squirted everywhere. Lots of it. All over me, the workbench, everything on the workbench, the floor–it was awesome. Those of you who have had the thrill of a three-year-old child breaking a jar of molasses in the middle of the supermarket aisle, and then getting in the middle of it, will know the feeling. Except in the supermarket, you didn’t have to clean it up.
My clothes were covered in it. My favorite pair of corduroy pants, my shirt, slippers, and an expensive wool sweater–all covered in PVA glue. I suppose you are wondering why I was in the work shop dressed in good clothes. Well, I’m wondering that myself, so don’t bother asking. I didn’t take a photo of the mess to include here because, frankly, my hands were covered in it and I would only have ruined the camera. In fact, it’s just as well I didn’t think about it at the time or I probably would have tried.
Glue has a time-limit. The clean-up has to be within that time-limit (notice how I avoid using the word ‘frame’ here) or the glue will start to dry and be impossible to get rid of. So I dash into the laundry, dropping great glops of glue along the way. Something to step in. The basin in the laundry is still filled with paint clean-up stuff, so now I’m mixing the messy gluey clothes with the painty stuff. Oh, joy. I wipe off what I can with a soggy towel, then dash back to the workshop with some paper towels to mop up some of the mess there, then decide that the clothes are the priority, so I strip off the pants, shirt, and sweater, now all dripping water instead of glue from the soggy towel effort. Carrying the drippy clothes I race back to the laundry to resume trying to de-glue the garments, stepping in as many of the glops of glue along the way as possible so as to greatly increase the clean-up task.
I suddenly realise that it’s colder than a witch’s tit in the laundry and the workshop, and I am now holding my drippy clothes in my hand rather than wearing them. I make another decision: the sweater is the first priority. . . that and my goose bumps.
So I run through the house, wearing very little and carrying the soggy sweater, up to my bathroom where I can rinse it in a cleaner environment (as in, a paint-brush-free sink). Also, I can put on some warm (and dry) clothes. Once I am dressed, and the sweater is more-or-less dealt with and left in a basin of cold water so it won’t dry out in case I’ve missed any glue, I return to the laundry to deal with the rest of the clothes and slippers. But I still need to get the glops of glue off the floor before they dry… (Tip: Paper towels are not all that useful when cleaning up glue; they tend to stick to your fingers, the floor, and anything else they come in contact with once they have been used to wipe up the glue.)
Ah, hell. I think that’s enough for now. You get the picture. We’ve been stuck on this page long enough.