Two words: Staples. Ouch.
Jan. 23rd, 2010 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angryoldhagOnce, my father had a staple gun thing. We also had pieces of carpet that had to be fastened onto awooden flight of stairs. Today those bits of carpet had to be removed.
Now guess who got to remove it? Uh-huh. Me. Removing something glued onto wood is interesting enough, especially at the top of a flight of stairs and with the only thing there to break my fall a concrete floor. So I yanked and, not expecting or remembering my father's brief but extensive obsession with a stapler gun I grabbed right into open staples.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Removing them turned out to be easier and less painful then cutting open part of your palm to get to wood fragments embeded under your skin, but still. Dad is never allowed near a stapler gun again.
Now guess who got to remove it? Uh-huh. Me. Removing something glued onto wood is interesting enough, especially at the top of a flight of stairs and with the only thing there to break my fall a concrete floor. So I yanked and, not expecting or remembering my father's brief but extensive obsession with a stapler gun I grabbed right into open staples.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Removing them turned out to be easier and less painful then cutting open part of your palm to get to wood fragments embeded under your skin, but still. Dad is never allowed near a stapler gun again.