(Alternate title: Motherfucking Irony)

I took all three children to Lowe’s today. Mr. G needed a few things to finish (WOO!) the floors upstairs and I’ve decided that 105° with a heat index of 110° is the perfect weather to re-pot my succulents.

We were in the nail aisle (for future reference: Aisle 16) and I was trying to decide if we needed a whole pound of nails for $3.47 or if I should just get a small box of 60 for $1.83. Such a quandary! We have no need for 500 nails but the box of 60 nails seemed sort of like a rip off.

I was pondering this Decision of the Ages* when I looked up and saw my oldest son messing with sheet metal.

“That will cut you! Knock it off!” I yelled. My safety lecture continued, “This is metal,” I said as I turned the big, stupid race car cart around, “it’s sharp. It. will. cut. you.” And right about then I proved my own fucking point. My finger just barely grazed the very thing I was warning my children about and, lo, the blood ran all the way down to my elbow.

I’m pretty sure the manager is concerned that I’ll sue the store over my own stupidity. I wasn’t going to say anything but there was a lot of blood and I needed a tissue or something. I also figured the sheet I cut myself on probably had some residual blood on it- that can’t be sanitary! Manager Man hooked me up with antiseptic wipes, antibiotic cream, and a bunch of band aids. Good enough.

The upside of this adventure? I figured out how to silence the incessant bickering between JP and SG: show them an excessive amount of blood. It shocks the little farts into total, wide-eyed silence.

*I opted for the small box. The nails cost more per piece but take up less room.


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