I have a fear of super glue. It raised it's ugly head again this weekend when I needed to open a used tube of the stuff. Previously used tubes of superglue should be classified as weapons of mass destruction, as far as I am concerned. "Mass" may be a bit of overstatement, but if you have ever been stuck to something - or to yourself - things get put in a different perspective.
Previously to last year, I had the typical experience of gluing my index fingers together. You know the drill, your heart jumps, your mind races for a split second, "What if I can never get them apart??!!". And then you laugh and pry them apart - no problem. No problem, but sane people would take steps to avoid this problem in the future, right?
Well, this is just what I did. It was about 2 am and I was inspired to glue my broken-off handle back onto my insulated coffee cup. I very carefully opened the superglue, unclogged the nozzle with a pin, applied the glue, standing very still- very, very still- to allow it to dry with no possibility of accident. I checked to make sure all of my fingers were free moving during this time and was feeling quite smug after a few minutes, realizing that, yes, I had done it! I had not glued anything together that was not supposed to be that way!
Let me explain the setting a bit more at this point. I was standing in the middle of my kitchen floor, halfway between the refrigerator and the sink (they are on opposite sides of the room). The distance was approximately 12 feet between the two, and again, I was at the halfway point. The mathematical formula for my position would be......
d= distance between sink and fridge
x= my position
therefore I was halfway between the two which really equals 6
Math was never my strong point, but this is important, I swear.
So.....after the few minutes of quiet triumph I spent while drying the handle, I figured it would be safe to set the mug on the counter and go about getting my shoes on and unlocking the door so my co-worker Lynette could come in. This was my procedure every morning, today would be no different......EXCEPT.....when I went to walk away I took a normal stride with my left foot, and then went to raise my right foot off the ground for the concurrent step and immediately stopped my forward motion. Something was terribly wrong. My big toe- more exactly a quarter-sized spot on the pad of my right big toe was superglued solidly to the hardwood floor. The reaction to this is very similar to the panic you get when you glue your fingers together, however it lasts MUCH longer.
I had spent so much time standing there letting the glue dry, that my toe was quite properly glued down. This definitely was not a case of just trying a little harder - my toe was now a part of the floor. Now, remember, I am 6 feet or d/2=x (which is coincidently how tall I am) from any object in the room. When the panic receded a bit, I decided that if I could reach the silverware drawer (next to the fridge) and get a butter knife out that there was a possibility that I could get my foot pried off the floor. Thanks only to my excessive height and occasional yoga practice I was successful in getting the butter knife in only a few attempts. (I found "Warrior Pose" seemed to be the most useful yoga position in this situation, just so you know)
During the long period of time (probably only a few minutes) of trying to pry my toe from the floor with a butter knife, my mind was quite active. I was worried that Lynette would arrive, find the door locked and then ring the door bell. This would wake up my girls (possibly) and J (most definitely) and then I would be in the "oh hi, just glued my self to the floor here" spotlight in front of my boyfriend, my friend and my daughters. This would not do.
I did get my toe pried from the floor eventually and stumbled to unlock the door. At this point, I was so releaved I was beginning to giggle uncontrollably in my dark and quiet living room. I was so damn happy and the hilarity of the situation was starting to cut through the previous panic. I get very weak when I laugh, so it took me a few tries to actually put my left shoe on. Then, it came to the right shoe. Just as Lynette was walking through the door I discovered something horrible that I had overlooked in my moment of Joy. My...sock...was...still...glued... to ..my ....toe. Yep, I had socks on the whole time.
At this revelation, I totally lost it. I was laughing so hard I couldn't speak. As you can tell by the length of this entry, it takes quite a bit of explaining. Try doing that when you can't breath, no less talk. Somehow - through sign language and probably a bit of mental telepathy - I got it through to her what happened. We eventually decided that my sewing scissors were a) sharp enough and b) pointy enough to surgically remove my sock from my toe. This took some time due to the careful nature of the cutting and the fact that I was in absolute hysterics, which didn't help my steadiness. After a time it was done. There were still some tufts of cotton that would eventually wear off in the upcoming weeks, but overall, things turned out okay.
Almost a year later, my anxiety of using the superglue the other day was overwhelming. This is obviously not going away any time soon. From now on, I am sticking with (no pun intended) Scotch tape.