PRECISION FORCEPS

Sometimes, as a mom, you sit in your car a lot. And then you overuse the word "forcep."

Today, while parked at the bottom of Ticket Hill waiting for RE to descend from a day of junior high, I was searching for entertainment because my phone was dead and there wasn't a scrap of literature to read. I didn't want to waste my emergency snack (a packet of Justin's chocolate hazelnut butter) because I wasn't really starving. I rifled through the center console and found a miniature first aid kit to play with. In it was a little tube containing PRECISION FORCEPS. Excuse me, I thought we called them tweezers. I only want to pull out a hair, not a baby.

*shudder*

I attempted to remove an unwanted strand from my eyebrow's arch for the next several minutes with my PRECISION FORCEPS. Even with my college degree, my staunch determination, and sublime natural lighting I could not operate those PRECISION FORCEPS well enough to grab one measly hair, much less pluck it out. The tips of the PRECISION FORCEPS were akin to sewing needles so by the time RE got to the car I had produced a terrific display of Seurat's pointillism on the thin, delicate skin of my eye.

What kills me is that the forcep factory actually put some effort into engraving their product. There was probably a well-groomed, unibrowless Board of Forceps that voted on the font. They even went to the trouble of packaging their product in a well-sized and adorable tube, an act I appreciate since I am one of those consumers that will buy anything if it is packaged well. All I can guess is that the head quality control Oompa Loompa was taking care of Augustus Gloop the day these PRECISION FORCEPS rolled down the manufacturing line.

Always keep a book in your car.