I was standing in George’s driveway tonight, when I noticed some fresh tar that had been put down to fill the cracks in the asphalt.
I bet that’s really squishy, I thought and sat down on the ground to poke at it. Indeed, the tar was squishy, but it started to make black stains on my finger pads, so I stopped and started flicking my flashlight on and off to keep my hands busy.
I thought that I was in the all clear until I got home and was changing into my pajamas. As it turns out, I was also sitting on the tar, and it’s adhered itself to my legs.
Now, I have had some experiences with tar before, so you would think that I would know better than to touch it in the first place, let alone sit down on it. Unfortunately, we are out of those magical little wipes that I used the time I went swimming in the ocean on vacation and got covered in little black patches, so it looks like Google and I are going to have a fun time figuring out how to get it off my legs without resorting to amputation.
I’d like to say that I’ve learned my lesson and will never touch tar again, but the more likely story is that the next time I see some tar, I will remember what happened here, but poke it anyway. I’m a sucker for squishy stuff.