Saturday Things

1.  We went to the park today.  Guess who’s limping?  Guess who’s going to the vet when we get a little money ahead?

2.  In better news, Mrs. Wigglebottom had a bath and has been deflead.

3.  I had lunch with John H. over at the Mothership.  It was really nice.  We had a long, meandering conversation punctuated by visits from Knuck between customers.

4.  I blame the Professor for my dirty house.  No, hear me out.  When is our house the cleanest?  When the Professor comes over and keeps me company while I clean.  And she’s off being all brilliant in Canada, so I’ve been farting around doing barely enough to slide by.

5.  Lindsey just rocks the feminist house today with her post on this man’s man bullshit.  The only nit I’d pick is that she neglects to point out just how openly gay the whole thing is–“After decades of uncompromising movie heroes like Marlon Brando and Clint Eastwood, we were asked to fall for stuttering, floppy-haired fops like Hugh Grant” [emphasis mine]. 

6.  Speaking of men, I like hairy chests.  Can we be done with the waxing and the shaving and the whatever?  Thanks.

Speaking of Magic Cures

I have zero plantars warts.  I’ve had them in my life.  I had a big old ugly one on my little toe all through grad school and I had one on my heel in high school that the doctor finally just had to go in and cut out, because it withstood medicating and freezing.  This was how I learned that anesthetic is not my friend, seeing as I felt almost the whole thing before the doctor was like "Why are you clenched up?"  "Isn’t it supposed to hurt?"

And did I try to warn the guy who took my wisdom teeth out about that?  Yes.  And was he surprised as hell anyway when I started trying to talk to him midway through the surgery?  Yes.

Where was I?

Warts.  So.  Yes, I’ve had them.

But nothing like the poor Butcher.  He’s got, at any given time, one on his foot and one on his hand.  Nothing works.  Medication, freezing, cutting them out, killing a toad and burying it during a full moon*, nothing.

Except…

Can you even guess?

Duct tape.

I don’t know why, but putting duct tape on the warts seems to make them less severe and they go away faster.

Is there anything duct tape isn’t good for?

 

 

And, obviously, I wouldn’t recommend this treatment for genital warts.  Just saying. 

But also, isn’t it strange that the Butcher has them all the time and I never get them any more?  Is he like the wart magnet of our house?  As long as he has them, the rest of us are protected? 

Oops, and it looks like, according to Wikipedia, they’re plantar warts, not plantars warts.  Well, you learn something new every day.  And they fuck with your DNA?!  How cool is that?

*Just hyperbole, folks.  We don’t really do that.