A Nod to my Heritage...

Here's a shocking admission for you...I'm Polish.  Yes, yes, I know...you probably have some joke or other to tell me...which  I'll reuse as a blond joke.  Ha! Ha!

In all seriousness, it's a very handy thing to be a Polack.  (Yes, this is the correct spelling...apparently those who spell it 'polok' or 'polock' are just plain ignorant!  I had to look it up...)  So anyway...   All the clumsy, irrational, silly, and thoughtless things you do can be proudly displayed under the flag of your heritage.  I try to have a Polack moment on a regular basis...just for the fun factor of it.  By the way...it's not hard for me to contrive...it really does come naturally.

Here's what happened to me yesterday morning (I'm writing this on a Monday, so of course to add to the interestingness, we were all trying to get ready for church).  My daughter was dressing up for church, and I noticed that one of her flower clips was losing the flower, so I decided to quickly fix it before we left.  I whipped out the handy super glue container and started pasting.  Some of the glue was stuck, so like any normal Polish person, I squeezed harder.  The quick drying glue squirted all over my left hand, gluing my three middle fingers and my wedding ring together before dripping onto the laminate floor.  Of course, concerned for the flooring, I immediately wiped up what I could before it dried, later realizing that my fingers were glued together.  I managed to painfully pry my fingers apart, but it was really difficult to bend each finger, and my ring wasn't moving AT ALL.

I quickly called my clever father-in-law, a chemist and glue expert, as well as amateur pie maker, to try to get out of my predicament.  I can't remember the name of the chemical necessary to break the bond, but since I didn't have any GooGone or paint thinner, his cheery solution was, "It'll be gone by Tuesday or Wednesday!".

So, there I was with my glued-up, partially functioning hand, scar-like white lines of glue declaring my Polishness to the world.  Here's the great part.  Some of you know this already, but for my readers who don't know me personally, I'm the church piano player!  Do you know what it's like to play an offertory with a non-bending left hand?  I do...now.  Sigh...at least I can always blame any mistakes on my heritage...this time!