Superglue and Guilt and Kids

I suffered through the day yesterday with my less than useful liquid bandage, enjoying the fine acetone smell which always reminds me of my sisters removing nail polish. Then, after work but before rehearsal I ran down to Cole Hardware conveniently located just off Market Street downtown. A rare thing to have a neighborhood hardware store anywhere in the city any more, let alone one in the tourist heart of downtown.

Unfortunately they were out of the brush on Krazy Glue, leaving me to buy a tube. I opted for the Krazy Glue brand even though other brands were cheaper, partially because of the protective tube it comes in but mostly because I tend to be brand loyal. I head off to rehearsal, go straight to the men’s room to apply my new protective coating to my cut and… The tube is hard as a rock. After massaging it and throwing all my weight onto it I manage to get enough half solidified glue out to coat my cut. Even so… way better than the liquid bandage.

I can actually use my finger now. I can type away with reckless abandon. Of course, I wouldn’t actually be typing right now if I’d signed up to participate in my company’s volunteer community day today. Why didn’t I volunteer? Because I’m a heartless bastard who doesn’t believe in making care packages for children with cancer? No, because a the very poorly worded info on the community day made it sound like you had to use Paid Time Off to participate and I haven’t earned enough yet. But by the time I found out you didn’t need to use PTO to go, I had already scheduled a couple phone calls for this morning.

On top of all that, it’s bring your kids to work day. The place was swarming with the cutest little kids you’ve ever seen until about 20 minutes ago, when they all went across the street for community day. I could be getting my kid fix while getting a warm fuzzy from making care packages while getting paid! Instead I’m at work, but at least I’ve got Krazy Glue on my cut.

(And that my friends is probably the most I will ever blog about work, because I’m paranoid about getting dooced.)