You warm up for it. You flex your muscles and crack your
knuckles. You take a deep breath. You clear your mind and focus on
the task ahead. You say a prayer, as it will be a fight to the
finish.
You warm up for it. You flex your muscles and crack your knuckles. You take a deep breath. You clear your mind and focus on the task ahead. You say a prayer, as it will be a fight to the finish.
Who will win – you or the plastic wrap?
Like certain ugly realities of life – paying taxes and the effects of gravity on the human body – wrestling with the plastic wrap is a constant thorn in the side.
It’s something that should be simple and yet, it’s not. Take it from me – to avoid embarrassment, it’s something that should be dealt with in private.
Round 1
I took a firm hold on the new roll of plastic wrap to let it know who was boss. After finding the easy-pull tab, I pulled. I pulled one way; the wrap went the other.
I re-rolled the wrap and started over. Once again, I looked for the tab. The tab fell off. It was up to me to find the starting point. I turned the roll over and over in my hands and felt like a hamster in a wheel, getting nowhere. Since my nails and teeth proved useless, I used scissors to cut into the wrap. I cut off a somewhat jagged piece.
Round 2
This is when fancy footwork and light jabs ended, and a more intense fight ensued. The two of us stood toe to toe and started hand-to-hand combat.
Automatically, the freshly cut piece of wrap used its super-strength sticky powers to simultaneously adhere to itself and my hand – the same hand I accidentally spilled honey on before I stepped into the ring.
Determined to win, I tried desperately to release my hand from the plastic’s almighty grip. Only the plastic was relentless. It would not let go. It was fixed on me like a vulture on its prey or, in boxing terms, like Mike Tyson chomping on his opponent’s ear.
Then we both went down for the count. I slipped and fell on the honey I spilled earlier. On the floor, tussling and rolling around, I spotted the pull tab under the kitchen table.
My son entered the kitchen. He saw me on the floor, shook his head, stepped over me and exited the kitchen. He’s seen it all before.
Lying face up, I saw the kitchen towel above me, hanging from its hook. I grabbed it and threw it into the ring. I admitted defeat. The fight was over.
Later, after dinner, when my husband reached for the roll of plastic wrap, I wished him luck and left the kitchen. Some things are just to painful to watch.
Cindy Argiento is a free-lance columnist who lives in North Carolina with her family. Her column appears weekly in the Gilroy Dispatch and Hollister Free Lance. She may be contacted at ca*******@*ol.com.
