Today’s posting is a reblog from “The Whirly Girl. Her post,” How I spent Christmas night” is one of the wittiest and flat out funny things I’ve read in a looong time.
A direct link to her blog: https://thewhirlygirl.com/2017/12/27/how-i-spent-christmas-night/
With a laptop stuck in my pants.
You might think I’m kidding; I’m not. See, I decided Christmas was an ideal time to do laundry. I’d have the laundry room all to myself; it’d be a wonderfully peaceful place, maybe even offer a little redemption (what with the washing of stains and all), plus I could jam to any music I pleased. I’d not only complete a chore, but dance in the process.
I cheerfully sorted my clothes into two loads — whites and colors — packed them into laundry bags, grabbed the detergent and fabric softener sheets and a handful of quarters. Then, although it was slow to dawn, I realized I’d no third hand to schlep the laptop safely. So I did what any self-respecting genius would do: I stuffed the laptop into the back of my pants. Not only was it a tight fit, it also looked ridiculous, a problem easily solved by pulling my shirt over it. Tada, and off I toddled.
How did I get to be so smart, you wonder. Well, it comes from a lifetime of being single — you learn to invent new and unorthodox ways to manage on your own. I can, in fact, haul impressive quantities of household goods hither and yon, things like groceries, cleaning supplies and appliances. I can also fall off ladders, trip circuit breakers, mow lawns, paint ceilings, shuttle furniture like a plow horse and look completely ill-suited to every task.
The laptop in the pants trick is just the latest example of my do-it-yourself inclinations. Except, this time, I couldn’t do it myself. After loading the washers, I couldn’t get the laptop out, it was trapped in my pants. I couldn’t wiggle it out; I couldn’t yank it free; I couldn’t pull or push; I couldn’t sit down or breathe, either.Turns out, it’s impossible to get a good hold on anything behind you, especially something with no handle wedged inside a waistband. I twisted and contorted myself into unnatural positions seeking a better angle, but to no avail.
I was forced to admit defeat and seek assistance. My go-to responder, the office, was closed. The halls were deserted. Even the parking lot was empty. I was certain I’d die, felled by a laptop cutting off my breath and my circulation — my hips had long ago gone numb. I leaned against a wall to rest.
Long story short, a stranger did, finally, come to my rescue. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem surprised or incredulous or the least bit curious, she acted as if pulling a laptop out of someone’s pants was common practice. I adore people like that — the ones who don’t get all sniffy when confronting stoopidity.
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