I'm going to share something with you. I'm hesitant to tell you this because I don't want to gross you out. Please don't be grossed out.
I have some . . . um . . . warts on my left hand. I hate them. I've had them frozen off by the dermatologist twice and they've come back both times looking for a fight. They're bigger and badder than ever. I've tried the apple cider vinegar treatment, putting the vinegar on a little piece of cotton ball, putting it on the . . . um . . . offending area, and covering it with a bandaid. It works - somewhat. The acid of the vinegar eats up the . . . um . . . bad spot. Unfortunately, it also eats up the innocent skin around the wart. Ouch.
Next attempt: duct tape. Supposedly, if I cover the offending areas with duct tape and keep them covered, in about a week they'll have been suffocated. It could take longer, of course, but the duct tape thing is supposed to work.
Why am I telling you this?
On Friday, I was sitting in front of a computer (and no, I wasn't on Ravelry) in my classroom during snacktime. Two girls came over to me and one of them asked, "Do you have any duct tape?"
Hmmmmmm, I thought. I think I might have duct tape. I was pretty sure that I had my roll of duct tape with me, at the ready to cover my . . . um . . . imperfections. Yes. I knew I had my duct tape with me.
"I think I do have duct tape in my bag," I said to the now excited girls. I stood up and started to walk toward my desk. I stopped. Duct tape? Scotch tape, always. Masking tape, maybe. Duct tape? Wait.
"What do you need duct tape for?" I asked with a confused look on my face.
"Oh, we're going to play this game where we have code words and if someone says a code word, we cover their mouth with duct tape."
"Um . . . no."
Can't believe I almost gave them duct tape.
And what if the New Haven Register or the Connecticut Post found out?