There are a lot of different kinds of lid supports out there, Aimee. How about one of these: [link] [link] [link] [link]

Ok, cool thanks guys!

Okay, you guys made me vanity-search my name in COMM, and in doing so, I stumbled across one that I posted *to* COMM (not one that I actually said), which might be my favorite COMM ever:

Betsy: The building with the cookies is having a fire evacuation.

No cookie for me.

I went for a walk around the lagoon.

A walk is not a cookie.

I returned to the vending machine. They were out of Peanut M&Ms, so I got Plain. Then I went upstairs.

We don't have any unflavored fizzy water. We only have artificial berry-flavored.

My plans for the remainder of the afternoon: Sulk.

Allyson: So in third world speak, it'd be all:

I went out to get an egg this morning but some sort of beast ate my hen, so I had to suck on the same root I had yesterday. Then I decided to walk to the watering hole to get a bucket of water to start boiling leaves for that friggin' whooping cough that won't let up, and tripped over my 8th youngest kid, who succumbed to the ebola. It's just not my day.

bon bon: Did I tell you all about my rich neighbor who has a chicken and seven kids? She's really got it made. Me, I'm a spinster. I WISH I had some root and a husband. At least I have one leg to take me past my daily stoning.

Lid supports? Lid supports. Lid supports.

The phrase has lost all meaning to me.

In tales of baby fingers and hinges I will relate to the cautionary tale of my friends Dibble and Spud and their two boys. The younger son slammed the door, and the eldest son's hand was in the hinge and it cut his finger off and they had to rush him to the hospital and they didn't realize the finger was off and Spud (the dad) had to go back to the house and crawl around on hands and knees until he found it under the couch and put it in a bag of ice water and rushed back to the ER where it was sewed back on.

Moral: Little kids are freaking dangerous.

I WISH I had some root

I think this ALL THE TIME.

One of my good friends in high school had half a pinky. He had a run in with a sausage grinder as a child. It always stuck me as something so...Dickensian or something. Not late-70s, grandpa's garage project.

When people would be too nosy about it, his older sisters used to say that the Juarez mafia kidnapped him and chopped it off with a cigar cutter but gave him back with no ransom because he was so annoying.

That's way better than telling my little brother that our parents buried the other little brothers under the front deck when they were bad.

I'd like to formally register my displeasure with something......

It was 85 on monday. There were BUGS. They are now predicting maybe an inch of snow in the morning.

WRONG.

Ew, finger amputation. Big yuck, and big ow for the poor kid and family!

My only toy box story was when a few friends and I were jumping rope in the unfinished basement of our house, and I tripped on the rope and fell, landing with my forehead hitting the corner of the toy box (just missed taking out my eye, which was a good thing). Ended up with six stitches and a nice little scar, but that's it.

I did almost bite off my tongue when I was three (well, the last half-inch or so of it) when I jumped off the swing in the backyard, but the teeth only went most of the way through the tongue, and it healed pretty quickly.

I searched COMM.

Boy, do I hate the Green Lantern.