Not Even Elephants

Not Even Elephants          
by D.M. Grant

         “Welcome to the Stay Stuck emergency line. Please press 1, if you or someone you know has ingested one of our products. Please press 2, if you or someone you know has stuck a body part to a body part with one of our products. Please press 3, if you—” said a computerized voice on the other end of the line. I interrupted the voice by pressing 2. Yes, that's correct; I stuck a body part to another body part with a Stay Stuck product.
         You see, my hand was currently glued to by butt. No, not my pants, my butt. Please don't think I'm some sick weirdo. I assure you it started out innocent enough. My daughter had brought home a letter from the teacher. I was tasked with making some decorations for the spring dance and bringing them in the next day. It didn't take a genius to know my little angel had forgotten to give me the letter. To make matters worse, I am not a crafty person. I'm bad, scary bad. Explains a lot doesn't it.
         I had been struggling for hours. Nothing was staying glued down. At some point, I gave up and headed for the store to find some miracle. Just my luck, the party store was closed. My last hope would have to be the craft department of our local value store. While in the craft department, I spotted a small display of Stay Stuck. The sign proclaimed, “Not even elephants can pull our glue apart.” I could only hope this would be my miracle.
         It was getting late, and there was still a lot to do. I went to work laying out my design and was starting to feel like I might be able to do this after all. The letters would have to be done first so they could dry. A drip started descending my paint brush and I reached for a paper towel, knocking over my paint cup. Paint splattered and ran everywhere. I snatched up everything in the path of the paint and grabbed some paper towels from the end of the table and contained most of the paint. My pants hadn't survived the ordeal.
         Taking a deep breath, I began my breathing exercises, mentally counting to ten. I started pulling my pants off, hoping to avoid getting any more paint splattered around the house. Wobbling a bit on one leg, I threw my palm down on the table to catch myself. My hand landed right on the tube of Stay Stuck.
         “Dammit!” I yelled and flopped myself down in the chair. Forgetting I had set aside the glue gun while cleaning up the paint. I jumped up and grabbed my tush in one maneuver. I knew right away there was trouble. If only I had wore my granny panties today. I tried to remove my hand from my tush. In the end, I called the number on the bottle and pressed 2.