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Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Sure. I’ve never been able to successfully pull off a practical joke in my entire life.
But I’ve never had a Fake Nail Through the Finger before!
Just looking at it makes me giggle!!
But I can’t giggle. That’s always been my downfall. Whenever I attempt to pull off a prank, the snorting begins. All I have to do is look at the person I’m trying to prank and I start sniggering.
(Like the day I wore my bacon bandage to a meeting.)
But I was prepared this time. I developed a plan.
I knew I couldn’t just run to Dave with a nail through my bloody finger and say, “OMG! Look what happened to me! I just hammered a nail through my finger!”
He’d never buy it. He’s way too smart for that. He’d wonder why he hadn’t heard any hammering before my accident.
So I got a hammer and real nail and announced loudly that I was going to be hammering a nail into the wall. In fact, I showed him the new key holder that I purchased. “See this new key holder?” I said, holding it up proudly, not unlike Vanna White in Wheel of Fortune. “I’m going to hammer this into the wall next to the back door.”
Just for effects I said, “I better be careful not to hurt my finger, or anything.”
Dave ignored me.
“I mean, a hammer is a dangerous tool. Who knows what could happen if I miss the nail.”
Dave ignored me.
I left the room and implemented my plan. I hammered several times and screamed.
I put my fake nail and the bloody bandage around my finger, running dramatically into the family room, sounding remarkably like Meryl Steep and whimpered, “Dave! Look what I’ve done!”
He glanced at my finger and said, “I hope you didn’t spend more than a dime on that stupid thing.”
I must admit that I fell short of my goal. Although I did manage to pull off the stunt without one giggle, it was not convincing.
But I know where I went wrong.
I put it on the wrong appendage.
Dave would have completely fallen for the Fake Nail Through the Toe trick. Hook line and sinker.
I’ve always got my eyes open for exciting new products to showcase in my mall kiosk. And I hit pay dirt when I discovered F-Cup cookies on the Japan Trend Shop website.
Clearly, F-Cup cookies would make a fine addition to my product mix.
I was certain that, with proper marketing, F-Cup cookies could be more popular than even the 2014 Furby. In fact, they could potentially outsell the next generation I-Phone.
After all, who doesn’t want an F-cup?
I developed my pricing strategy. I believe consumers would spend up to $29.99 for a box of cookies that will expand one’s bust to an F-Cup.
Unfortunately, the cost of the cookies ($22 plus $12 shipping and handling) was excessive. I would have to find a cheaper product source.
The obvious solution would be for me to manufacture my own F-Cup cookies. After all, I am rather good in the kitchen. (And, at the risk of appearing arrogant, I am a summa cum laude graduate of Michaels's Cake Decorating Class.)
I looked closely at the F-Cup advertising copy. F-Cup cookies include a 50 mg dose of the Pueraria Mirifica plant, which is, apparently, the special ingredient which “boost your assets” (their words, not mine).
So, all I would have to do is get my hands on some Pueraria Mirifica plants and bake them into cookies.
No problem.
But I quickly discovered that neither Lowes nor Home Depot sells Pueraria Mirifica plants.
So I did some more research. OMG. This is one potent plant. According to Wikpedia,
“The benefits of this this medicine is to support memory, talk big, and be able to remember three books of the astrology, make the skin smooth like six year old kid, live more than 1,000 years and parasite diseases are not able to be of trouble.”
So my Nerdling F-Cup cookies would not only boost a woman’s assets to an F-cup, but would increase her memory so she could remember not 1, not 2, but 3 books of astrology, make her skin smooth like a 6-year old kid, and live more than 1,000 years with no parasites?
Wait. One. Minute.
I was completely on board until I read that a 1,000 year old would have skin as smooth as a 6-year old. Come on! My mama didn’t raise no fool.
There is no way in the world any one over the age of, say, 980 years of age would have skin as smooth as a 6-year old.
Not to mention that parasite thing.
I mean, I would think women with F-cups be parasite magnets.
That brand promise is way too lofty for my Nerdling F-Cup cookies. I have a reputation to protect. I’ll just stick with the basics.
Nerdling F-Cup Cookies will increase your bust size to an F-cup. And increase your memory so that you can remember not 1, not 2, but 3 books of astrology telephone numbers.
When my friend Chris told me about the Electro Smile, I was shocked.
Sorry. Couldn’t resist.
What’s not to love about this amazing Japanese invention? A contraption that sends electric shocks to a child’s cheeks triggering the muscles in their face to force a smile? And such a sincere smile!
The advertising copy is powerful: “Pout no more. Granny’s coming. Your kids will look happy with the push of a button!”
It gets better. Apparently you can adjust the settings for fast action: “30 Amp Super Shock to slap a smile and grin FAST”. And the smile last for days!
I’ll bet.
Talk about marketing genius. Once again, the Japanese identified an unmet need in the market place and developed a product to meet that need.
It goes without saying that this product would have been a flop when I was a kid.
Our parents had the opposite problem. If I had a dollar for every time I was told to “Wipe that smile off your face,” well, I’d be able to afford a house full of Electro Smiles today.
I decided to order myself an Electro Smile, thinking that it would be fun to have around the house.
However, when I attempted to purchase my new Electro Smile, I could not find the device for sale anywhere. I dug deeper and discovered the Electro Smile to be a big stinkin’ HOAX.
How utterly disappointing.
The real product is nothing more than a bite counter. Albeit, an ingenious bite counter.
The Kami Kami Sensor counts how many bites a child makes and beeps to notify parents of every 30 bites their child takes. Plus it plays a melody after every 1,000 bites. All to encourage kids to chew their food thoroughly.
I don’t know about you, but the Kami Kami Sensor sounds like torture to me. Can you just imagine being forced to listen to beeps and melodies during a meal? And what if you had more than 1 kid?
Still, nobody is addressing the elephant in the room: the need that remains unmet. Without an Electro Smile to force our children to smile, what options remain?
There's always the cattle prod.
Or the fail safe, tried but true method.
Fart jokes.
When I posted my question on Facebook regarding the best tool to amputate a Barbie ankle, I received a lot of helpful suggestions, ranging from toe nail clippers to bolt cutters.
Other friends, taking into consideration Barbie’s make-up, suggested more powerful tools, such as a Ratcheting PVC Pipe cutter or a 4-inch grinder with a cutting wheel.
(Clearly these people don’t know who they’re dealing with. Remember? I’m the one who had to ask my husband what a wrench looked like when assembling my unicycle.)
Only one friend asked me why I was going to amputate Barbie’s ankle, which in itself is curious.
Well, it all started with my exciting new used book, Regretsy, which highlights some of the most ridiculous items ever posted on Etsy.
Oh, how I love a good challenge. And, as my readers know, I have a talent for making ridiculous items.
Thank you.
To that end, I decided to make Barbie Foot Earrings.
I
dragged Kimmy with me to Walmart to help me find the perfect pair of
Barbie feet. After considerable deliberation, we selected Raquelle, the Barbie
with the fashionable fuchsia wedges.
On the way out of the store I handed Kimmy the receipt and she said, “Why do you need that?”
“In case I want to return it,” I said.
“Except she won’t have any feet,” Kimmy responded, always one step ahead of the rest of us.
“OOH!
OOH!” I said. “I’ll say I just bought this Barbie and never
noticed that her feet were missing until I got her home!"
Kimmy, of course, ignored me.
I set up the surgical suite on the kitchen table, stocked with a wide array of impressive tools.
“Don’t worry, Barbie,” I said, empathetically.
“This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”
Perhaps it’s a tribute to my culinary skills, that the bread knife was the most effective scalpel.
I realized that some of you may find me heartless. A Jeffrey Dahlmer of sorts. I get it. Cutting off Barbie’s foot to enhance my jewelry collection may seem a bit narcissistic.
But I am not entirely cold blooded. See? I treated Barbie’s wounds.
And I don’t know about you, but I think these Barbie Foot Earrings turned out AMAZING!
Another challenge met. And exceeded.
But I have one challenge remaining.
Off to Walmart.
I knew Kimmy wouldn’t let me down. After living on the other side of the world for almost a year, she came home with blog material galore!
Which, on the other hand, has left me with a very bad case of blog envy.
It’s one thing blogging about toilets in Thailand. But it’s another thing experiencing them first hand. Especially Thai Toilets on trains.
Damn her.
It’s really not fair. I would give anything to be able to walk down the aisle of that Thailand train, travelling from Bangkok to Surat Thani. My bladder full of Tai Tea.
I would open the door to the toilet and see 2 options: a squat pot and a regular toilet.
Despite the fact that my squatting skills are not completely honed, I would decide to take on the challenge of maintaining my balance as the train jolted from side to side. (That's how stupid adventuresome I am.)
I would pull down my unmentionables and assume my best plié. As the train rounded a curve, I would look down to ensure that I remained on target.
That’s when I would notice something moving briskly in the pot.
Since I would not have my reading glasses with me in the Thai Train Toilet, careful examination of the contents of said squat pot would be impossible.
Hence, I would take the conservative route and opt for the regular toilet, rather than risk exposing my netherlands to whatever the hell was swimming in the pot.
I would lift the toilet lid and notice a similar movement in that toilet. And I would come to the realization that Thai Train Toilets empty directly onto Thai Train Tracks.
I would try not to gag, all the while thinking what a great blog topic this could be.
Sadly, the Thai Train Toilet is just a fantasy for me. I did not get to experience the excitement of seeing railroad ties pass by, through the lens of a toilet bowl.
It’s just not fair. This could be the biggest case of blog envy ever.
You may think it could not get any better for Kimmy.
You’re wrong.
Her friends Luke and Neil slipped between cars on the Thai Train to smoke.
And got splashed.
How lucky can you get?
For years researchers around the globe have debated the issue of whether creative genius was genetic or nurtured.
That issue is no longer up for debate.
As evidenced by my brother Tom.
Now, Tom is remarkably similar to me: a creative genius.
He recently encountered a problem, and created a unique and novel solution to said problem.
A product amazing in its simplicity. Yet nobody before him had thought of it.
Not even me.
As background, Tom’s wife Maureen injured her lip. According to Tom, “I don't know if she banged her mouth on a beer can, or maybe got it caught in a car door. Maybe I made her laugh so hard that her lip broke open.” (Or not, Tom.)
OK, this is not Maureen, nor does it in any way, shape or form illustrate Maureen's lip injury.
But it is a lip injury.
Now as wonderful as Maureen is, the poor thing does not have Clyde genes. You cannot achieve creative genius by simply saying, “I do.” Still, Maureen tried desperately to find a creative way to fix her lip.
To no avail.
According to Tom, "She tried putting everything on it. She put butter, peanut butter, salt, canola oil, crazy glue, WD 40, bacon, gunpowder, and lip balm. She even tried a band-aid."
A band-aid on your lip? Come on, Maureen.
Tom added, “This gaping wound, about the size of an eyelash, became the focal point of her existence.”
Tom told me he had no choice but to invent something that would immobilize the damn thing till it got all healed up without her meddling.
He recalled the time he hurt his shoulder and the doctor put it in a sling, and the light bulb went off.
To that end, Tom invented the “LipSling”.
Goose bumps.
Note the instructions on his original sketch:
1. Insert the sling into one nose hole.
2. Pull it out the other nose hole.
3. Tie a knot and pull it in till the knot is in the middle of your inner nose.
4. Tuck your sore lip into the LipSling and leave it there till it heals.
At the risk of insulting the integrity of any of my readers who may be tempted to steal Tom's LipSling idea, note that he has protected it with the TM symbol.
With that said, he is looking for investors. For $100,000 you can get 5 percent of the net profits. You could be one of the first shareholders.
Back to the prevailing debate. Creative genius: genetic or nurtured?
I think my stinkin' case is closed.
"Mom, can I wax your lip?"
I heard 6 words come from Linda's mouth, but my brain refused to comprehend them. I looked at her dully.
"Can I wax your lip?" she repeated.
"NO!" I said firmly. "I don't need my lip waxed."
"Yes you do," she said and handed me a mirror. I looked. "I don't have hair on my lip," I said confidently.
She handed me my reading glasses. I looked.
I firmly believe that God makes our eyes go bad so we don't notice our flaws as we age. Reading glasses are for reading. Not for discovering that Kevin and I have similar lips.
I decided to consult with Dave, who also happens to be reliant on reading glasses.
"Linda wants to wax my lip," I told him. "Should I let her do it?"
"You have hair on your lip????" He seemed surprised. That made me feel better, since, clearly, he had never noticed my hairy lip.
"Yes," I said, humiliated.
But then he said, as if rubbing it in, "I don't have hair on MY lip."
Now, Dave has a full beard and mustache. You don't need reading glasses to see that he has hair on his lip.
"Yes you do!"
"No, I don't"
And we proceeded to debate the ridiculous issue until it became clear to me that he thought I had hair ON my lip (as opposed to above it).
I decided to let Linda get her wish. I know. Willingly allowing your daughter to inflict pain and suffering upon you in the name of beauty may not have been the best choice I've ever made.
But the before and after photos certainly are convincing.
