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Jett Superior laid this on you on || December 4, 2006 || 12:19 am

Reason #481 why I love Sam

Reason #1,973 why I should not be left to my own devices

Yesterday afternoon, as I was getting tarted up to go out, about, and alla round, the cord just up and fell out of my favorite curling iron. You know, the juicy-fat one that tames all frizz and makes my hair do some semblance of kicking in or out all in the same general direction.

I goggled in amazement, because I’ve never-ever had a curling iron just decide to shit out its cord before. WTF??

I commenced to holler for Sam to bring me a phillips head screwdriver, because the girls are pretty useless when it comes to that sort of thing. They play dumb (“What’s this phyllis head you speak of? Where do we keep the tools again? Why can’t you just wait and let daddy fix that thing?”) and I end up getting infuriated.

Frequently it comes in handy to have fourteen-million kids milling about. They serve as excellent alibis, at times they have helpful information to impart, on occasion they can craft a tourniquet. Sometimes, they –as was the case yesterday afternoon– can even save you from yourself.

Sam stood there as I sat on my bed and disassembled the iron’s handle section so as to go about poking and prodding and saying wise things like, “Hmm. HMMMM.”

At a certain point, I’d visually absorbed as much as I thought necessary, and I set about connecting all the appropriate bits to make hair magic happen. I slid this there, aligned that with that, and then I slipped the cord’s coupling into the base of the handle, seating it just…so.

Round about then, there was a large white flash, a bigscary POP! and I shrieked. The whole shrieking thing is such an uncommon occurrence that I startled even myself and spastically slung the curling iron body away from myself, kind of pushing it dual-handed through the air, causing it to land at Sam’s feet. That boy, he didn’t move a muscle, much less blink.

JETT: *sheepish* Whoops, looks like I neglected to unplug the cord from the wall.

SAM: Give me that screwdriver. You’re done.

Whereupon he closed the six feet of distance between us, held out his hand in a very manly, decisive way and accepted the tool I handed over in an embarrassedly resigned fashion. He then turned and bent, picking up the (only slightly blackened) iron and went to deposit them both in their rightful places. Screwdriver: Utility room cabinet. Curling iron: Trash.

I unplugged the cord (finally! der!) and wrapped it around my neck, choking myself a little in penance. The end.

3 worked it out »

  1. Richard D. Bartlett 12.4.2006

    you write a lot

    I think I like it.

  2. skillzy 12.4.2006

    I don’t believe the story. Cause if it had been you, you would have been knocked silly and taken to the emergency room. Where you would have chatted up the staff.

  3. Jettomatika 12.5.2006

    wretched: here is a brief list of things I also do lots, in no particular order:

    +bite nails






    …please bear in mind that this list is in no way all-encompassing.

    Skillz: sometimes God gives me (and the ER staff) a little leeway. SMART-AY.


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