Stuck in a Sweatshirt!

From the bedroom, I shouted to John in his office, “Did anyone say anything nice about me yesterday?”

I’m going to be sexist here, but wasn’t that a stereotypical female question that brings the deer-in-the-headlight expression on a man’s face? He knows he’s doomed, no matter what he answers. Playing for time, he asked me to repeat my question.

From the next room, “Hmmm. Yes. All the time. Why?”

I answered, “I can’t get my head through through this sweatshirt! I must have gotten a swelled head from something!”

We were laughing, not respecting daughter Lise’s visiting right to quiet at dawn. My head finally poked through the neck. I should have quit when I was ahead. No, I pushed on, trying to thrust my left arm where it belonged.

“I’M STUCK!!!” I wailed.

John asked, “Where is a camera when you need one?”

“Use your phone!”

“I don’t know how to take a picture with my phone.”

“Come in here and use my phone!” I shouted.

“I don’t know how to take a picture with a phone.”

I said, “Now is the time to learn. Come on!”

Footsteps came pounding down the hall, and Lise asked, “What is all the laughing about? What am I missing?”

I explained, “I’m stuck, and I’m making Dad take a picture of me.”

John, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Touch the button.”

“What button?”

“Lise, you take it. No! Don’t! He’s got to learn to do it. Touch here, John.”

I didn’t hear the click, so John tried again before handing the phone to Lise. My deranged hair was hanging in front of my face, and I was wearing a goofy expression while waiting. It didn’t help that we were all laughing. In the end, we had three photos to show for our efforts.

112217 Anne stuck in a sweatshirt.jpg

“Somebody please help me get my arm through.” I couldn’t imagine myself making a pie with only one arm in play, not to mention walking to the creek in that position.

Lise asked, “How did you get so tangled up? Here, I’ll pull the back down. There! How’s that?”

“I’m FREE! Thank you!”

Thanksgiving dinner had been rescued.