No, not right NOW, but OCCASIONALLY, I DO need to do both of these things.
You see, I've been attending these SIOP conferences (Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol. Aren't you sorry you asked?) and I go up to Provo (the Mormon capital (or is it ol?) of the WORLD—really, they have stores like "Missionary Emporium" and shit) once a month for 2 nights and stay in a hotel with another teacher. Between the room sharing at night and in the morning, sitting in a conference room all afternoon, and group dinners and shopping excursions in the evening, a girl never gets a chance to do those private things that just simply must be done from time to time! By the time I arrived home on Tuesday night, my colon was about to burst, and I had a crusty in my left nostril the size of a quarter.
On a completely unrelated note, Soph got herself stuck in the baby swing at the park last week. Bless that girl's heart she has some seriously sturdy thighs. Danish thighs. Thighs that are storing up for that next cold winter when the lutfisk barrel is getting low.
(You know the anatomy of the baby park swing—yes? It kind of looks like a plastic diaper for a mutant four legged baby? Two leg holes on both sides.)
So she climbed in, and slid forward so that her thigh chunk squeezed through the hole up to her hip, and then kind of squooshed around the outside. When I went to lift her out, she wouldn't budge. After 10 minutes screaming ("Am I going to die here?") crying, screeching, and wailing by her; and pulling, pushing and threatening by me, I realized we had a fairly serious problem on our hands. I called by brother for a rescue (E was snowboarding) and tried to calm that girl the fuck down.
Then, I had an epiphany. I knelt on all fours beneath her and told her to stand up on my back. After she did that, her leg was lengthened enough for her slid the swing down, and I stood up and shimmied her the rest of the way out. Then I held her while she sobbed, "I'm just too stout." (Remember this? She won't say fat since then, and for some reason has settled on "stout" for her euphemism.)
And that, dear reader, is fodder for my next post which will be all about my recent entry into the land of Weight Watchers.
Comment whore wants to know...
Have you ever been stuck? Not in traffic, but really, really stuck in a small space where you couldn't get out? If so, spill.