Don’t ask me how I managed it. Because I honestly don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I could manage to re-create the scene even if I tried.
At work the other day, I somehow managed to get the collar of my shirt caught on the hook on the back of the bathroom stall door. And the more I tried to free myself, the more hopelessly attached to that damn door I seemed to be.
What’s worse was that it was like 5:40 and the whole mad dash for home had already started, so the number of potential rescuers was dwindling fast. Add to that the fact I didn’t have my office key on me either, so even if I managed to escape, there was a good chance that they had already closed the doors and I wouldn’t be able to get back into the office to get my purse and car keys. Locked out of the office because I got stuck in the crapper—it could only happen to me!
My only hope was that one of my female co-workers had a long commute and a small bladder and would have to make a pit stop at the bathroom before they left for the day. But even then, how humiliating to have to ask a co-worker—someone you see for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and have to sit across the table from in meetings and stuff—for help freeing yourself from the toilet.
Luckily, I finally managed to twist and contort into the exact right position and was able to free my shirt from the door. And thankfully the office door was still open.
This latest episode is just one of the many reasons I never buy nice clothes. I swear, no matter how careful I am, I’m always ripping a sleeve, breaking a zipper, losing a button. But mostly I either shrink things or stain things. I promise you there’s not one stitch of clothing in my closet that doesn’t have something wrong with it. So I’ve basically given up on trying to look presentable. And as a result, I have nightmares that any day now Stacy and Clinton from that show What Not to Wear are going to jump out and surprise me and tell me that someone has recommended me for a much-needed wardrobe makeover. To which I’ll respond, “Bring it on. Just don’t expect the clothes to last more than one wearing, because, as sure as the day is long, any new garments I get will surely suffer the same premature death.” Hmm, maybe that’s why they call those things we put our clothes on hangers, because they want to hang themselves after all the pain and suffering.