While life hands all of us an ongoing series of knotty issues and tangled messes, I appear to have taken the concept to a new level (a dubious distinction). Some mildly embarrassing examples, slapstick knot-withstanding:
The hooded pullover sweatshirt. No matter how I try (arms first, head first, whatever), I still manage to get lost in the garment and usually end up calling out to B. to come rescue me from the depths of fleece. I know there’s daylight out there somewhere, but my inner compass just can’t seem to find it. When I finally do emerge, it’s a whole new world.
Seat belts and purse straps. Seat belts were designed to help save lives — when used as directed. Not, as I learned one day not so long ago, when you forget to pull your arm out of the shoulder harness, then catch your foot in the strap of your purse (which is on the floor) while attempting to vacate the vehicle. Here’s what happens: you pull your arm out with some force, causing your foot to get further tangled in the strap, which results in your catapulting out the door onto the curb. Not exactly a gold medal in gymnastics. In face plants, maybe.
Hiking. In nature. Ms. City Girl here can hike city blocks like nobody’s business. Fleet footed (even in heels), confident, quick. Put me in nature, though, and all of a sudden I’m like a newborn calf on wobbly legs (two, of course, not four). Pavement I understand; climbing rock piles, stepping on stones across creeks, hell, even walking through uneven forest terrain — not so much. My feet get tangled and knotted around each other, usually resulting in fumbling, stumbling and mumbling bad words.
The comforter. B. can’t understand how I can continually (read night after night) get tangled up in the comforter to the point where I’ve got 90% of it and he is stuck with a measly 10%. Based on his observations, I do the tuck and roll which, similarly to the pick and roll, allows the offense (me) to prevent the defense (him) from taking ownership. No fancy footwork or passes here — just my tucking the comforter under myself and rolling. As the night progresses, I do this more than once, resulting in the aforementioned inequity of possession. Attempting to navigate my way out of the tangle in the morning isn’t pretty — and let’s just say there’s not much sympathy from the opposing team.
The good news about tangles is that they make you appreciate the times when things go smooth as silk, with nothing tying you into knots. Then again, some knots can add twists and texture to life, making it more interesting. And more fun.
Right foot, blue.
© 2014 Claudia Grossman
I had absolutely no idea you were “Forest Gumps” child!!!!!!!!I think you are perfect. D
Great column as always. My wife and I have both committed blanket theft, albeit inadvertently. We refer to the self-wrapping in the blanket as the “burrito,”-:)
Going forward, burrito it is!