How NOT to use a crowbar

For the next week or so, every person I see is going to be staring at my chest. They’ll wonder “What did she do? Do I want to know what she did? Was it something dirty? Is it rude to keep staring?”

Photo_DDDF3948-74DA-A029-758E-45C97C9C62AE

Well, here’s the answer:

A couple months ago, I found a great chair by the side of the road. It was water-logged and kinda gross but the foundation of it was so fantastic. I’d been wanting to find a chair to refinish and this was a cool (very!) cheap option.

As I was working to strip the fabric to I could refinish the wood, I was unable to get the back of the chair off. I found two screws and undid them but still the back wouldn’t come off. I spent hours tugging on that damn thing. I had my dad come over and see if he could help me figure it out. He couldn’t figure it out either. We started tearing the fabric off trying to see if we could find how the back was still attached. At one point, I brought out the crowbar to try to pry the back off. But, I forgot safety and instead of prying away from myself, I stood right behind it. As I was trying to pry it apart, the curved, down-pointing end was pointed toward me. When the crowbar slipped out of the chair, the end nearest me scraped right down my chest. I looked down and all I could say was ‘Damn. That’s gonna look hot.”

But the best part? My dad doesn’t miss a beat: “Well, there’s a new blog post for you – how not to use a crow bar!” Thanks, Dad!

So, here you go:

The WRONG WAY

and the RIGHT WAY.