Saturday August 27th, 2011 - Fox Lake, IL Now I did it. I was trying to fix of all things a broken piece of string and ended up with two bleeding fingers. That’s unpleasant enough, but it’s one on each hand. That will be a bigger hassle than it needs to be, but it’s too late now. The damage is done. I’m an idiot. I’ve never been good with mechanical chores because I don’t enjoy that. Bob Vila isn’t facing any competition for his ‘Mr. Fix It’ title from me any time soon. I’m not interested in that kind of stuff at all, and if I never darken the door of Sears or Home Depot, it’s ok. Whatever part of the male chromosome package with that in it must have been left out of my genetic blueprint at birth. I have no desire to own, operate or oversee any task with a tool involved. I don’t like getting dirty, and I’d rather hire someone than ruin it myself. That being said, all that was needed was to change a piece of twine attached to the chain that clicked a light bulb on and off in the laundry room where I live. I don’t think that’s a job to farm out even for me, so I took it upon myself to suck it up and get it done myself. I’m the one who broke it, even though it had been yanked on thousands of times before I ever moved in. Whatever. That’s how it goes. Mr. Lucky shows up right at the moment trouble occurs, and then has to deal with it whether he wants to or not. It’s my formula. It’s my comedic formula that is. Living it in real life isn’t so funny. I had no string, so I had the brainstorm to walk to the dollar store in downtown Fox Lake, about a mile away. I’d make it part of my daily walk, and it would have purpose. Ha. I got there and couldn’t find the string, and had to ask two clerks and they couldn’t find it either for ten minutes. Finally, the manager was called in and she found it in ‘Automotive’. Really? There’s an ‘Automotive’ section at a dollar store? And balls of string are in it? What kind of cars are getting fixed like that? Even the rattletraps I drive wouldn’t get repaired with kite string. The whole ordeal was more than I ever intended, and then the clerk told me it would be $2 for the ball of string. It’s a dollar store. Why was this $2? I was trying to be funny with the whole concept, but nobody was biting so I paid for it and left, hoping never to return. When I returned home, I discovered there were no scissors to cut a piece of the string to replace the one I broke, but I did find a fresh razor blade I thought I’d use instead. It was a brand new blade, and a lot sharper than I thought and before I knew I had a nasty gouge in the pinky of my right hand. Blood was spurting everywhere, and I knew I made a mistake. Then I tried to pick up the blade with my left hand and promptly put another deep cut in the middle finger of that one. More blood. More stupidity. More reason never to pick up a tool or sharp object ever again. Then I had to find bandages. Ever try to apply those with a bloody finger on each hand? The sink looked like the shower in ’Psycho’, and took a long time to scrub out and make clean again. All that bloodshed to fix a stupid piece of string.
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