Ill-advised, at best

My excuse is that I'm tired. I want to get a load of little boy clothes going, and it's almost 1 a.m., and I'm not thinking as I should. That's my excuse.

I have to fall back on SOMETHING to explain why I thought it was a good idea to put a plastic tablecover in the dryer. The washer is one thing: It made it through there fine. But the dryer? I let it roll for a while, then asked Cheryl, "Is it OK to have the plastic tablecloth thing in the dryer?" Even as I said the words, I knew the answer. I'd say it was a choir of angels that clued me in, but angels probably don't say "FUCK NO!"

I got the tablecover out just in time. It was soft, and preparing to melt into a nasty, dryer-ruining, potentially toxic, fire-starting mess.

On the scale of the ill-advised, however, this still rates below my great moment in desk electronics. By that I mean, I was replacing our old, dead printer, and because it was a pain to unwind the plug through all the crap of the giant, wardrobe-like desk thing, I thought, "I'll just cut the cord." I didn't even for a second that this might be anything less than super-efficient. Then the lightning bolt shot through the still plugged-in cord -- yes, still plugged in -- and through the scissors (which it burnt a hole in). Perhaps it was the plastic handles of the scissors that saved me the loss of my arm hairs (which aren't a big deal) or my heartbeat (which I'm quite attached to).

Cheryl was a little upset with me. I was, of course, flattered at her lack of interest in widowhood. But mostly, I was chastened -- a new feeling for me.

I think what threw her the most was my absolute lack of awareness of my own stupidity, pre-electric shock. Usually when I push my luck or do something outright risky, stupid or ridiculous, I know exactly what I'm doing. Hell, I embrace it! Now, however, I have sons prone to doing things like jumping off their changing table. I don't have the luxury to be stupid anymore. It's not just my arm hair on the line.