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as climbing up on the roof and putting that nasty cold patch stuff up around the flashing.
No other activity combines the excitement and adventure of amateur mountaineering--the sort usually involving shortcuts and being lost--with the euphoria and spatial disorientation of sniffing glue.
It is difficult not to want to clutch the bucket of nasty black stuff right up close, for fear it will go tumbling down the roof, fall twenty feet onto the driveway, and leave an interesting black mark the pavement that can only be removed by further exposure to Violently Odoriferous Compounds.
It says on the label that the stuff contains compounds known to cause cancer in lab mice in California, but since I am not a lab rat but a Homo Sapiens Midwesternus--where doing one's own roof work is as obligatory as making one's own whiskey in Alabama--I feel this really doesn't apply to me.
At least I found some relief while working around the sewer vent, which completely relieved me of any ill feelings about inhaling nasty chemicals. Instead, the fresh aroma of nature's own methane quickly drowned out the oily arouma of the cold patch.
The best part isn't just whiffing while teetering at the enge of a pitched roof twenty feet off the ground. The best part is that the proper appliation of the stuff is not unlike icing a cake with that nasty canned sugar stuff.
There is simply no way to get it to spread nicely and feather out to a thin edge that won't actually entrap the water with false promises of a quick trip to the ocean, when istead it finds a sudden, brown end on my inside ceiling.
Mabye I should go put up the holiday lights while I still have the ladder out. And before the buzz wears off.
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