I am tragedized. My own word to describe a cross between traumatized and tragedy.
Last night I decided to drill an internal hole in my garage door to stick a metal stick through. For safety. Because I’m tired of going out and around to unlock my garage door in the morning so I can leave, and at night after I arrive home. And, because Home Depot misrepresented the timing of the call to schedule installation of my new garage door opener. Apparently, “a call within 48 hours” to schedule installation actually means “a call with 168 hours, if you’re lucky. Because we’ve already got your moolah, suckah!” (sigh)
Sooooo, I got my power drill out, put the drill bit in and happily started my project. I was nearly done with my project and my hair slipped forward. I shoved it back and thought, “You know, I should put it in a ponytail.” — *drill, drill* — “Nah, I’m almost done …. oh, crap.” The drill stopped and I looked in horror at the bright orange thing now attached to my head via my hair.
I’ll have you know, the instructions on the drill tell me to wear safety goggles, but there’s nothing on there about hair protection. Although, you’d think I would have learned something from the vacuum episode that happened in December of 2003. Or, perhaps, the hotel hair dryer incident that occurred in Las Vegas in 2001. On second thought, perhaps I have learned something from those episodes.
First of all, to stay calm, despite having a foreign object attached to my head. Second of all, how to disassemble said foreign objects with a screwdriver and a mirror. Thirdly, to realize that I’m on my own. Because, it’s quite likely that the neighbors will be unable to assist me — doubled-over belly laughing is not conducive to an expedient resolution. And driving my car with a vacuum (for example) attached to my head over to Tony’s is more likely to get me arrested for not having proper seat belt restraints on my passenger (the vacuum) and is, therefore, counterproductive. Not to mention visibility around said foreign object.
So, back to last night’s episode. I grabbed my phillips head screwdriver and went to work disassembling my new orange hair adornment. I quickly realized that the screws holding it together required a five-point star type screwdriver. That required a second trip to the garage (the first trip was for my camera) to get my advanced chick tools that Tony was kind enough to buy me as a gift some time back. (FYI, I love chick tools, so that was an excellent gift on his part.) After about 45 minutes, I had the power drill disassembled. I pulled my hair gently out of the drill’s motor but, alas, my poor hair was fractured and broke off in my hand.
The ironic part of all this? I have a phobia about getting my hair cut, kind of like a dentist appointment is to most people. On Tuesday evening I was really brave, overcame my phobia, and had my hair trimmed so it was all nice and even. I doubt most people will even notice the missing chunk of hair, however, I am really not looking forward to explaining this to my hair cutter.
On the upside, the cat scratch owies from Monday night’s cat adventure are healing nicely.