Yep. I wrote about it in the 1/28/13 blog post on my website.
Here is the pertinent part:
Teaching at Arrowmont in TN.
At any rate, I was helping a student I’ll call Mylvia. (That’s not
her real name; I changed one letter to protect her identity.) Mylvia
had a lot of energy and some great stories sifted from her career as
a registered nurse.
I was helping her solder a tricky bit on the large-personlitied
brooch she was building, explaining how and why I was heating things,
watching the hottest part of the flame and not paying particularly
close attention to where the tail of the flame was going. After
completing the difficult soldering job, I smugly awaited the
breathless praise for my amazing soldering prowess, resting the side
of my hand on the soldering pan which had of course been thouroughly
heated by the tail of the flame. Mylvia, no doubt alerted by my
schoolgirl shriek, instinctively grabbed my singed hand.
I’ve burned myself enough times to know that this would be bad–not
emergency room bad, but giant-fetal-twin-blister bad. Bad enough
that I wouldn’t get much sleep and showers would really suck.
Now, I am a sucker for a Southern accent, especially when it pours
from the lips of a Southern woman and Mylvia had me transfixed when
she looked me in the eye, gently held my cooked hand and said:
“Professor Sugar, do you trust me?”
“I suppose so.”
“Okay then, I’m going to fix you. Now this trick was taught to me by
a glass artist.”
With that she unscrewed the top of a bottle of clear nail polish
that she had magically scooped from her purse.
“Now you can only use clear, plain nail polish”, she said as she
began to apply it to my burn. “Here’s what I’m gonna do: I’ll apply
three coats, letting each dry before I put on the next. Then you’ll
be good to go.”
I just stood there, feeling her healing breath play across the nail
polish as she dried each coat. After the third and final coat she
screwed the bottle closed and told me that was about it. I could just
go about my day, wash up, work–whatever-- and just let the nail
polish scab slowly flake off over the course of several days at which
point I would be fine. I smiled and nodded, trying to figure out how
to best explain to the attending ER doctor why my burn was covered
with cheap, clear nail polish. Because I was certain that I would be
headed to the ER in the next few hours, despite my original
assessment. Except that it wasn’t hurting really at all. Maybe a
little sting. But the gargantuan blister that I knew was coming just
wasn’t- ditto the throb of heart pain I so sure would be my
companion for a week. I was a believer!