Ooops! I forgot to read the directions!

One problem that I have with home repair projects is wanting to toss aside directions, rip open a package and just cut to the chase when starting a new home repair project. As my eyes get worse and the type font for directions on most packages gets smaller, this problem is getting worse.
It wasn’t until after I had my arms submerged in concrete up to my elbows in an attempt to mix it like bread dough, that I read the warnings about exposure to concrete having some carcinogenic effects. So I sat down, smoked a cigarette and contemplated the seriousness of the warning.
I must admit I tend to get rather careless in my zeal. As I described to my doctor the mass
of old wasps nests and other indiscernible matter that I scooped from inside a wall I was repairing, she said “You do use a mask when you are doing these things don’t you?” I gave her the “I should have had a V8” look, doing all but smacking myself on the forehead and exclaimed, “Hey that’s a good idea.” Her look was more like that of Dorothy on the “Golden Girls,” right after Rose had told the story of how her great Uncle Fruckenfroken was the ring leader of a Salmon circus in St. Olaf. In case you never saw the episode, the Salmon juggled tiny ginsu knives but sometimes accidentally filleted themselves.
Another fun incident I had regarding the ignoring of directions was when I first used that great stuff called Great Stuff, and neglected to read the part on the side of the can that said to wear gloves while handling it. For those who don’t know, it’s a squirtable expanding sealant for filling cracks and such.
First I tried gently pushing the trigger and squirting the expanding foam into the cracks, but it is like trying to get a cat into its carrier on the day it needs to go to the vet. The foam scatters in all directions! So I began smearing it into the cracks with my hands, until my hands were covered and I suddenly realized it was really sticky! Holding my fingers extended to avoid touching the ladder, I made my way down to the ground and rubbed my sticky fingers in the grass to clean them off. Big Mistake.
Now I had sticky hands covered in pieces of grass. I felt like Edward Scissorhands as the
long strands protruded from the end of each finger and I was unable to close my hands for fear they’d be permanently clenched together. I ended up in my bathroom using all of the carcinogenic cleansers I could find in order to scrub it off. Some of it took a couple of days to wear off.
Sticky things in general seem to have been my biggest challenges. Once, I decided to buy one of those mousetraps that is a sticky pad. I’m not sure why I even bought it, because the idea of finding some poor mouse dead and frozen forever in position just sends chills up my spine.
But this time it wasn’t me who neglected to follow the directions; it was my cat, Powder. Just as I’d peeled the back off and exposed the sticky side, Powder decided to jump up on the counter and see if it was food I was opening. Not having read the directions that indicated that cat’s tails are just as capable of being grasped in its clutches as mouse feet, Powder promptly gave me the “I want food” tail swish and the excitement began.
One swish caught his tail on the sticky pad and another swish of terrified surprise connected the same sticky pad to a bag of chips I had sitting on the counter. Before I knew it Powder was racing through the house with a mouse trap and a bag of chips rattling behind him and the chips they were a flyin’!
I ended up chasing him around the house with a pair of scissors to cut it off with, while hollering “Powder … Powder …You really should have read the directions.”