When I was five years old, I was eating lunch at my desk in Kindergarten. I clutched a pack of mayonnaise that my five year old hand could not manage to rip open. I didn’t want to use my teeth, and I wasn’t about to ask my partner, Kenny Harvey, to open it, because obviously he had cooties and would infect both me and my mayonnaise. So, I did what anyone would do.

I squeezed it.

Nothing happened.

I squeezed harder, bringing it closer to my body for leverage.

Naturally, a packet of mayonnaise can only withstand so much pressure, and it promptly shot out and straight up my nose with a measurable force. I had mayonnaise not only in my nose, but in my eyes, in my hair, on my shirt, my pants as it dripped. I was, by all accounts, a mess. I was sent home for a bath and change of clothes.

I don’t remember any more events of this nature until 5th grade, when I was sitting next to Brandon Gallespie this time, who was trying to use his modern glue pen. You remember: they were the size of the jumbo magic markers, filled with clear glue, and had a round spongy end for blotting the exact amount you needed onto your construction paper. Neat, and helped regulate drips and excess application. It was the start of the school year, and all our supplies were brand new and sparkling. Brand new trapper keepers sat on our desk, showcasing our favorite trend. Lisa Frank and Hello Kitty pencils were on display next to our college lined spiral notebooks. You know.

So the glue pen hadn’t been broken in and Brandon was squeezing to no avail. I should have warned him. Surely I had a flashback? You would have thought I would have at least had a premonition. But oh no. He squeezed, he banged, he sighed with agitation.

And all of a sudden, the tip flew off and glue came spurting after. The pen had been pointed towards the ceiling at the time of expulsion, so now glue rained down on us. I remember Brandon had it in his eyelashes as he blinked at me, wondering what happened. The little cardboard obstruction that was supposed to be removed prior to application was stuck to the ceiling tile above us. I had glue all over me and once again was sent home for a bath and change of clothes.

Over the years, I have experienced many projectiles to my face including, but not limited to: lotion, ketchup, soy sauce, toothpaste, shampoo, horse liniment (that STINGS), dressing, barbecue sauce (really, condiments of all types), eye cream, I can’t think of what all. It’s been some time since I’ve had anything happen. I think there was an incident at dispatch involving tartar sauce. But the reason y’all find me so endearing is that I share all the incredibly stupid things that happen to me. And, admittedly, that I do to myself.

So, this afternoon, I was purging items from the vanity to make room for my latest Rodan + Fields shipment. I noted once again that I have waaaay too much lotion. I don’t even use it except in the dead of winter when I have chalky legs. I picked up one that looked pretty old. It was Bath & Body Works brand in the squeeze tube. The body butter or whatever. The extremely thick kind. You know where this is going, but I should mention that I was still dressed from work, not in my lounge clothes yet. My hair was as close as it ever gets to being fixed (i.e. down with mousse), I had my diamond earrings still dangling from my earlobes, and was still donning my favorite top of all time (navy cold shoulder 3/4 length).

The lotion looked kinda separated at the bottom. It looked a little liquid-y. Hmm. Better investigate. I’d hate to throw out perfectly good five-year-old lotion, you know. Clearly a need for 5 gallons is bound to arise in the next two weeks. I flipped open the top and placed the tube under my nose so I could get a whiff. I squeezed.

That shit EXPLODED. 

I think I screamed a little bit. It was all over my glasses, in my mouth, my nose, my neck, of course my hair, and coating the front of my shirt. I immediately got my top off and bent over the bathtub to douse my head under the faucet and rinse my shirt. At this time, Johnny chooses to check on me. Of course, I am not at my most attractive at this point, but I try to explain what has happened. He just shook his head and moved on. Nothing surprises him anymore.

I have washed the shirt, but I hang it to dry and it’s too early to determine if the lotion will be life threatening to it. If so, I shall be devastated.

They say everything you need to know you learned in Kindergarten. I have not yet learned my lesson not to squeeze.