When I was just a little kiddie of about 7 or 8, my family went on a trip to visit my Dad’s family in Victoria. On the way back, we had something to eat, and my hands got all sticky. So being a clean little tyke, I had to wipe them clean.
Wiping them on my little brother didn’t work…
He screamed: “Muuuuuuuuuuuum, Sharyn’s wiping her hands on me”.
Wiping them on the seat didn’t work…
The seats were all vinyl.
Wiping them on me….
Seemed like it would be spreading the problem rather than solving it.
Wiping them on my parents…
Just seemed like folly.
Finally, triumph filled my eyes as they landed on the baby wipes.
The brand spanking new, unopened baby wipes.
Being both an independent and technically minded child, I carefully read the instructions.
1. Remove the cover from the container – CHECK
2. Locate the first wipe in the centre of the roll of wipes – CHECK
3. Push the first wipe through the hole in the centre of the top cover – CHECK
4. Reattach the cover to the canister – CHE….
OK, I probably didn’t say shit – I don’t think I learned how to say that until much later. But I’m certain I said my 7 or 8 year old version of “shit!” as “shit” does seem like the most appropriate word under the circumstances. And I’m sure fuck wouldn’t have sprung to mind. After all, I’m not a big ole potty mouth.
!!!!MY FINGER WAS STUCK!!!!
See, when I pushed my finger through the baby wipes of doom, the pointy bits of the cover (see left) dug into the tender flesh of my pointy finger as soon as I started to remove it.
So there I was… stuck in a car, bored, slightly carsick, with a stinky brother who kept coming over to my side and the lid of a packet of baby wipes stuck firmly to my pointy finger! At that point I started screaming… And crying… And waving my permanently disfigured pointy finger (even onto my brothers side).
Eventually, mum realised her threats of spankings and “pulling over right NOW!” weren’t working and she stopped the car to see what was causing both my screaming and crying and my brothers hysterical laughter. Both of my parents tried pulling it off, they tried tugging it off and they tried putting cream on my finger to help slide it off. Nothing worked!
My father approached with a pair of scissors from his fishing kit. They were all rusty and covered with the remnants of fishy parts and wormy slime and even more horrid things. Naturally enough, at that point I really started freaking out!
Eventually, they decided to take me to the next town and see if the local ambulance or hospital could remove the baby wipes cover of doom without the loss of my finger. Although by that stage, I was reasonably resigned to the loss of the finger!
Anyways, we finally got to a hospital and approaching their emergency department we rang the bell to summon the duty staff.
OMFG!!! The entire hospital staff came running at the sound of the bell!
Apparently, it turned out there’d been a fairly nasty car accident nearby and they were waiting for the ambulance to bring in the victim/s.
Instead, they got an incredibly stressed family with a little boy who was laughing his head off and a little girl who was sniffling and snuffling resignedly as she held forth a pointy finger firmly stuck in the baby wipes cover of doom!
Naturally, the hospital staff – all on edge due to their expectations of serious crash injury victims, began laughing at me – standing there pointy finger outstretched (if you’re trying for a mental picture, think ET phoning home)… with baby wipes.
It took about 5 mins for the doctor to remove the lid, using a push pointy things up and slide manoeuvre.
I suspect they see a lot of baby wipes of doom lid injuries.