In the gallery......
I'll start off by saying that I am not fond of fancy shmancy-ness. A lipstick lasts me 2 or 3 years and I don't go out for the pedicures and manicures. I have never had a spa or facial (except for the time I couldn't close my window at the car wash) and I don't like shiny diamonds or false eyelashes. I DO, however, LOVE my smashing new haircut and don't mind spending the millions of dollars it takes to keep it looking straight and sleek and pinkly.You can imagine, then, the horror of what I am about to tell you.Oh the horror, indeed.......
I had planned on keeping this unfortunate tale between myself, the three incredibly discreet customers who witnessed it and HER but decided that the not often talked about importance of Fly Paper Safety outweighed any embarrassment I might suffer.
I was looking for my wee hammer and figured it would be in the workshop. I walked in the door (like you would) and was attacked - I mean savagely attacked, by a long, sticky, gooey, violent arm of slime. It stuck to my right eyebrow and one entire side of my head. I was trapped..... very much like a giant fly. In fact, I was eye to eye with several small flies who were staring at me with cold, dead, desperate eyes. Like them, I could not move. I reached up and grabbed onto the sticky tentacle holding me hostage and stuck my hand into what had to be the sap from 57 million trees. It was then that I heard the honking. The bell ringing. The knocking. There were people at the gallery. SHE was up the hill doing something that did not involve helping me. I decided I would hide in the back yard and kept pulling and pulling at the fly paper that was stuck to my head. My hair was coming out by the fistfuls. Half an eyebrow. Gone.
Finally, I was free and managed to clean my hands with some turpentine which I happened to spill down my pant leg. Charming. By now, I figured the honkers had given up and had gone on their merry way and went into the house to try and clean the sticky out of my hair. I walked into the gallery and came fly to eye with 3 lovely ladies who had found the gallery door unlocked. They looked at me very strangely but did not ask questions. I could see a dead fly bouncing on the corner of my right bang but acted normal. I smelled like Christmas. They were lovely. Lovely indeed and bought some artcards and prints, complimented our "fun" gallery and even asked to take my photo. (Me and my seven dead flies declined because we had so much paint on our shirt).
Traumatized. I was. After they left, I found the telephone and asked Her to please come home and help me.
Ten minutes later SHE is at home, coating my very depressed hair in Becel Low Sodium Margarine....
Me: WHY DID YOU HANG FLY PAPER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORKSHOP?
HER: I bought it for the barn and had one strip left over. Wow....you are in a really sticky situation!
Me: Do you know how embarrassed I am?
HER: Well, just from looking at you, I'd say quite a lot. You know, that was my last fly paper strip.....could you go and stand still in the barn for a couple of hours before we clean you up?
Me: I could kill you!
HER: That's what the fly paper said to the fly!
Me: I had to talk to people in the gallery and wrap up parcels with all of this sap and death in my hair!
Her: That was a lot of work then sweety, there's no flies on you!
Me: I HAVE A BUG CEMETERY ON MY HEAD! IT IS NOT FUNNY!
HER: I hate to burst your bubble, my love, but that's where you're wrong. Practically speaking, you just saved 30% on an eyebrow wax!
Needless to say, I am barely speaking to HER still. This was a cautionary tale to warn all of you about not hanging fly paper in the middle of a room if you enjoy having the lovely head of hair and both eyebrows. Safety First.
Finally, I was free and managed to clean my hands with some turpentine which I happened to spill down my pant leg. Charming. By now, I figured the honkers had given up and had gone on their merry way and went into the house to try and clean the sticky out of my hair. I walked into the gallery and came fly to eye with 3 lovely ladies who had found the gallery door unlocked. They looked at me very strangely but did not ask questions. I could see a dead fly bouncing on the corner of my right bang but acted normal. I smelled like Christmas. They were lovely. Lovely indeed and bought some artcards and prints, complimented our "fun" gallery and even asked to take my photo. (Me and my seven dead flies declined because we had so much paint on our shirt).
Traumatized. I was. After they left, I found the telephone and asked Her to please come home and help me.
Ten minutes later SHE is at home, coating my very depressed hair in Becel Low Sodium Margarine....
Me: WHY DID YOU HANG FLY PAPER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORKSHOP?
HER: I bought it for the barn and had one strip left over. Wow....you are in a really sticky situation!
Me: Do you know how embarrassed I am?
HER: Well, just from looking at you, I'd say quite a lot. You know, that was my last fly paper strip.....could you go and stand still in the barn for a couple of hours before we clean you up?
Me: I could kill you!
HER: That's what the fly paper said to the fly!
Me: I had to talk to people in the gallery and wrap up parcels with all of this sap and death in my hair!
Her: That was a lot of work then sweety, there's no flies on you!
Me: I HAVE A BUG CEMETERY ON MY HEAD! IT IS NOT FUNNY!
HER: I hate to burst your bubble, my love, but that's where you're wrong. Practically speaking, you just saved 30% on an eyebrow wax!
Needless to say, I am barely speaking to HER still. This was a cautionary tale to warn all of you about not hanging fly paper in the middle of a room if you enjoy having the lovely head of hair and both eyebrows. Safety First.
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