Stop right where you are if you’re not into Gorilla Glue.
You see, I don’t have any choice but to write about it. Two of the three fingers I’ve typed with all these years (I regret to this day avoiding typing in high school) are coated with Gorilla. Fortunately, it’s dried and they don’t quite feel like my fingers, more gorilla-like, puffy and bigger than they should be. I know it will wear off eventually and that could be days because the glue adheres to everything.
That leaves you stuck with this column.
My conversion from Super to Gorilla Glue occurred when those crazy ads appeared on TV. How could you not think of Gorilla when you needed glue? Usually glue comes to mind when something is broken, which is a chore you wish you didn’t face because you were clumsy enough to have chipped a piece of heirloom china that never gets used as it belonged to a distant great aunt. But then you think Gorilla and it brings a smile. Gorillas would make short order to Aunt Mabel’s china and that alone makes fixing fun.
Some years ago, my father pointed out the deteriorating condition of his shutters.
“I’ve got to get these fixed,” he announced, scanning the second story windows. There was no way of mistaking the problem. Slats on several of the shutters had blown off and were lying on the ground; others were at cockeyed angles, an indication they would be next to go.
I didn’t say anything but thought here’s a job for the Gorilla. Converted by the advertising message, I bought a vile of the glue without even examining the list of all its possible applications. It lived up to its marketing hype. Without having to remove the shutters, I squirted a dollop of Gorilla into the slots of the loose slats and glued in place those that had been blown out. I was impressed by my efforts until the glue started foaming, leaving a curious effect to the shutters. Fortunately, this was not visible from the ground, so my father was never the wiser.
That’s when I learned of the “clear Gorilla,” the glue that doesn’t foam.
Of course, that’s what I bought next.
When something was broken, I couldn’t wait to see if it would work. When the blades to my wooden oars delaminated from age, I got out the Gorilla and a pair of clamps. This seemed a long shot, but it was worth a try.
I squeezed a thin ribbon of the sticky gel on one piece, mated it to the oar shaft and screwed down the clamps. I wasn’t in a rush, so it sat for a couple of days before I put the oar to the test. No problem, it was good as new.
Carol was impressed.
“Do you think it would work on my earring?”
On a shopping spree in Wickford with my granddaughter Alex, she had found a cheap pair of clip-ons that she adored. Part of the attraction is that Alex thought they would be smashing; they were clip-ons that she wears, and they were sparkling silver although not the real thing.
I agreed they were special, but when Carol showed me the clip had separated from the earring, I doubted they were repairable. Perhaps they had been spot-soldered, but attempting that would be foolhardy.
Gorilla Glue? Well, maybe even though a dab no larger than a pinhead would be needed. I could find no way to holding the two pieces in place while applying pressure. Clamps were too big and there was no way of holding it together in a vise. I balanced the clip in the appropriate spot and let go. It might work, so I squeezed out a tiny drop of glue, applying to the earring. A larger drop followed, and I quickly prevented it from dribbling onto the work. Now my fingertips were sticky. I dared not touch anything.
I gave the earring plenty of time to cure before presenting it to Carol to test. She was elated and carefully clipped it on.
You guessed it. She’s not taking them off.
It’s Gorilla glued.