: how I spent Christmas night :

By

With a laptop stuck in my pants.

Perhaps you 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 would be wonderfully peaceful, 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. No, she acted as if pulling a laptop out of someone’s pants was common practice. I adore such people — the ones who don’t get all sniffy when confronting stoopidity.

copyright © 2017 the whirly girl

Advertisements

43 Responses to “: how I spent Christmas night :”

  7. aintwegotitmade

    That’s a very, very amusing image. Of course, it’s a totally obvious place to put a laptop when both hands are full. And it was clearly entirely safe and secure. Soo…not stoopid, IMO. I would probably have put it one of the laundry bags and then into a 60 degree wash cycle.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply
    • the whirly girl

      It sure seemed obvious, until I tried to remove it. The question that keeps nagging me is: why was it so easy to put it there? Shouldn’t that have been just as difficult?

      I really like your wash cycle idea, I’ll save that little stunt for New Year’s :o)

      Like

      Reply
  9. AnnaTheCoffeeAddict

    Maybe the wiggling you did counted as dancing. On the bright side then, following that line of logic, you at least got one thing done on your to-do list! Cheers, and I hope you had a happy holidays!! :)

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  15. kingekems

    Well, as hilarious as that sounds, I must say, it’s great it didn’t ruin Christmas for you (unlike some of us who cried ourselves to sleep). Nonetheless, you just made my morning. Yay!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar
WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out /  Change )

w
Cancel

Connecting to %s

Basic HTML is allowed. Your email address will not be published.

Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS

%d bloggers like this: