I know that someday you'll find better things.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Wet Glue Ballyhoo

If there was a contest for who could talk for the longest amount of time nonstop regarding a single topic, I'm almost certain I could win-- as long as I was allowed to discourse upon my hatred of the school supply known as wet glue.

It's messy. It's ineffective. It's almost impossible to use an entire bottle. It multiplies secretly when your back is turned.

I throw it away whenever possible. In fact, I threw away several half-used bottles just last week. The following day, my daughter asked if I could help her find the wet glue. She had a project.

Karma-level: Shakespeare.
"My only love sprung from my only hate" upside-down and backward.

My child is the only person I've ever known-- ever-- with a sincere passion for wet glue. She creates reasons to invite it into our lives. This project involves the invention and subsequent comparison of several varieties of those stress-ball thingamabobs.

While it's not a sanctioned school project, I had to give it due attention because when fourth graders feel the need to invent stress-alleviating devices, well... clearly the parenting ball has been dropped.

However, capitulation would not be eager nor enthusiastic.

Several days in a row, I claimed anmnesia. Eventually she stopped believing me, and I had no choice but to re-stock the wet glue inventory.

She had the nerve to ask me if I could get the variety with glitter in it. I reminded her, through gritted teeth, that she'd said she was planning to pour it into un-inflated balloons.

"Oh, that's a very good point. The regular kind will totally work. Thank you so so so much, Mom."
The kid has mastered the negotiation technique of "the nibble" in spades.

For the sake of science and stress-alleviation, I found myself at CVS, trying to find that signature-shaped bottle. They had every kind of glue except the wet variety.

Maybe it was being phased out. Of life. Forever. Could I be so lucky?



Looking at the exorbitant price on the sticker posted below the absent adhesive, I reluctantly realized the cold, sticky economic truth: the demand could only be sky-high.

It was a good thing that they were all sold out, because I could not have brought myself to pay that much. The idea of paying more than a dime for squeezable-evil made me queasy.

The idea of going to Walmart or Target just to purchase wet glue was equally unappealing.

I went to the dollar store instead, where they were bundled in pairs. Since I would've felt foolish purchasing only one item, I picked up a second bundle.

We're back to owning four bottles of wet glue after an unremarkable streak of seven unsticky days. If I'd known our freedom was going to be so brief, I would've savored it. Let's all hope the stress-ball invention pans out, because I can't think of a more appropriate way to cope with the aggravation of being a wet glue owner for life.


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