I moved the refrigerator the other evening so I could suck the coils in the back. When I moved it back into place, our cheap linoleum ripped.
“Drat,” I said, bending down to inspect the torn flooring. “Well, that’s no problem. I’ll just paste it back with superglue!”
I grabbed the glue from the dump drawer, squirted some under the torn piece, and carefully pressed the linoleum back into place.
Superglue works in two minutes. After two minutes, a quarter-inch of my fingerprint was glued to the floor.
“Ouch,” I said as I tried to lift my finger.
“Honey, could you come here a moment?” I called to my wife who was in the other room.
“Can you wait until I finish my Facebook rant?” she called back.
“Well, I really need your help now. I’m glued to the kitchen floor.”
I didn’t hear a response from her, which meant she was socially absorbed. I tried to reach for a butter knife from the nearby table so I could use it to pry my finger free. The knife was too far away.
Finally my wife came into the kitchen. “Okay, so what’s the problem now? And why are you kneeling in front of the refrigerator with your butt up in the air?”
“My index finger has adhered to the linoleum,” I said.
“Your what has what to the what?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.
“I’m stuck to the floor here.”
“You’re kidding! This is great! Ha ha ha! Let me get the kids!”
Soon all the kids were in the kitchen. “Free smacks!” laughed my son, snapping my backside with a tea towel.
“I really need help here. I’m not kidding. Can you look up a remedy in our Household Book of Death Avoidance?
My ever-helpful daughter asked her phone for help. “Dad,” she reported moments later. “Did you know that linoleum is made of hardened linseed oil and cork dust?”
“That’s incredible!” said my wife. “Here, let me go get some matches and nail-polish remover. That ought to help.”
“No! No! No!” I screamed. “Maybe you can just call the Mr. Yuck poison-control number.”
“I have a better idea,” said my wife. “I’ll call 911.”
“No! No! No!” I screamed. “I don’t want the cops here!”
“I’ll use their non-emergency number. No problem!” quipped my wife.
Fifteen minutes later three firemen and a police officer were standing in our kitchen, laughing and filming me with their dash cam. “Superglue usually loosens with time,” they told me before they finally departed.
After that, my family gave me a pillow so I could rest. It wasn’t such a bad night. The dog and the fridge’s exhaust fan kept me warm until morning.