So, there I was at the firestation, having the handcuffs sawed off...

Unfortunately, no. It wasn't *ME* with the errant cuffs. But even MORE amusing, we went to see our friend Rrrrrrrrr whom we had helped move in June. The kids were having a great time playing, while the "adults" chit-chatted and caught up. Little Lau-Lau came out of his sister's room, saying "Mommy. Look what Err (his older sister) found!" (It's amazing what new things we discover after moving, isn't it?!) He held up a pair of handcuffs and a pair of small, silvery keys. Next thing we knew, Lau-Lau had said handcuffs on his wrist. And they were *real* handcuffs. The keys? Silver-painted plastic keys that went with the FAKE handcuffs.

Giggle. Snarf. At least that wasn't MY child with the handcuffs, and lo, those weren't my cuffs, neither. We tried and tried, poked and prodded. But those cuffs were *not* coming off. We had two options - go to the local precinct in hopes they had a key that would work, or go to the firestation in hopes of bolt cutters that would go through the metal. The funniest thing of this whole scenario is that Rrrrrrrrrrr is *very* involved with the civil services - she instructs firefighters. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. And those communities can be quite small.

We considered going to a distant neighborhood, but decided that hunger beat out potential embarrassment, and went to the local firehouse. Of course, the "boots" that were out front, cleaning the trucks, were {{snicker}} FORMER STUDENTS of Rrrrrrrrrrr. :) Hee-hee. And yes, once again, the firefighters saved the day (and the arm) by removing said cuffs without further embarrassment to Lau-Lau (he was already mortified by my handiness with the cellphone camera).

En route to the restaurant afterwards, I reiterated to the kids (with a special emphasis to my own wee MonkeyGurrl), that when you get arrested, they police put BOTH hands in cuffs, and purposely make 'em tight. Of course, I only know that from what I see on t.v.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.