Blowing up blonde
For example, I told the guys in the lunch room today that rice krispie treats are hard to make, because I always seem to burn them. Pause. Think. Light bulb. The directions clearly state, "Turn OFF heat. Add rice krispies." Oh! Now I get it. Too bad the confused looks and the "Are you kidding me?" comments already happened. Duh.
Or what about that time I sincerely asked, "Who's Bob Costas?" Well, the lunchroom wasn't too impressed with that one either. I specifically remember a "What planet are you from?" echoing from one particular sports-minded individual I am so fortunate to work with.
At any rate, I decided to dig another great blonde moment out of my vault to share with you. I need a pick-me-up this week, and I'm sure you do as well.
Although I live with my parents, I think of myself as pretty resourceful. I can get along just fine on my own, although I usually just choose not to. One particular day during my college years, I decided to do some laundry. For some reason, a lot of my biggest blonde moments revolve around household appliances (i.e. my Beefcake Blonde blog). I put in a load of reds... looked to my right and noticed my book bag was pink. Perfect! It needed a good wash anyway. I threw it in, let the washer do it's thing, and when it came time, transferred the wash to the dryer, book bag and all.
First off, why did I dry a book bag?
Once the buzzer rang, I started to pull my laundry out one piece at a time. That's when I noticed dark red splotches all over everything. I had no idea what broke open in the washer, but I wasn't excited to find out. After inspecting my book bag, I realized a bottle of nail polish had been left in the bag and broke as it tumbled with my clothing. Awesome.
Never mind the clothes. Here I am with a dryer literally COATED in red nail polish. It looked as if I had taken a paint brush and decided the inside of the dryer was better red than white. And the only thing I could think of to remove the nail polish was... nail polish remover! So with remover and kitchen sponge in hand, I tried dabbing at the polish a bit. Nothing. I added a little more remover to the sponge. Wiped. Still nothing. So I put my whole arm into the dryer and dumped the bottle of remover straight onto the stain. Genius.
Well, as I was attempting to scrub the polish from the walls of the dryer, I couldn't quite reach all the way around the cylinder as well as I had originally anticipated. I figured I just had to get in there a little better. So here I was, a 20-year-old college kid, body half submerged in the dryer, breathing in the lovely toxic fumes of acetone nail polish remover. Obviously, I began gagging at the smell as it attempted to kill me, so I grabbed a handkerchief, tied it around my face bandit-style, and went at the dryer again.
More nail polish remover was dumped. More scrubbing. I finally had it clean! But wait a minute, what did those big, bright red letters on the bottle say?
EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE.
And yes, I had dumped the entire contents of the bottle into a heat-producing appliance located within the confines of my living space. There it was again. Duh.
I went to the sink and filled a bucket with hot, soapy water. I took a different sponge (see, I had my thinking cap on that time) and carefully re-cleaned the interior of the dryer. Once I thought I cleaned all of the acetone-based product from the walls of the appliance, I realized it was now all wet on the inside and someone was bound to come find out what I had been doing in the laundry room all this time.
So I used my common sense. It IS a DRYER after all, isn't it?
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breathe. And hit ON.
Lucky for me, the dryer didn't explode. And the world never found out about the dryer incident of 2007. Until now. Duh.