Twenty-nine summers ago, when our road was paved, my sister and I lightly touched the soles of our not yet summer-tough bare feet to the newly sticky surface like dieters delicately dipping strawberries into chocolate fondue. Unfortunately, however, we couldn’t quite manage to create the tar “shoes” we envisioned because the stuff wasn’t deep enough, and were also wise enough to know that we’d be the ones scrubbing our feet in vain later that night.
So because we had to seek other, less seemingly permanent, more easily reversible ways to amuse ourselves, we turned to liquid cement, or whatever that thick mucilagesque stuff was that came in a dark amber glass bottle with a brush attached to the inside of its lid. With this, we would coat our hands, thus creating gloves (as opposed to tar shoes) which, once dry, we could peel off like sunburnt skin. We took great delight in seeing our fingerprints and hand creases imprinted on the dried cement.
Fortunately, our propriety didn’t extend as far as headgear, so we spared ourselves the task of concocting suitable gooey ersatz sun hats to complete our accessory assemblage.
All of this, without the benefit of having sniffed the mucilage/glue beforehand. Amazing, what you can and will accomplish when you’re having the time of your nine- and ten-year-old lives.