Feel free to skip down to the picture if you want.

So the other night, rather late, Mike and I were sitting on the couch. I casually asked him if there was any way to cut the cord on my broken lamp without getting electrocuted. He looked at me in silent horror, probably picturing raising the children on his own; then croaked, "What?"

I told him that my lamp has been broken for quite a while but that it's plugged in behind my two-ton desk. I'm trying to avoid having to move that mofo, but... (deep sigh) ... if I have to I will. But I really don't want to. Mainly because I'm lazy I would have to move all the stuff off of it. And trust me, that could be an all-day job. There is a LOT of stuff on top of my desk. A lesser desk would have collapsed by now.

He said he would take a look. (Lesson: if you are incompetent enough to possibly be a danger to yourself, your husband WILL help you.) So he pulled all the junk out from under my desk, grumbling under his breath about "too much crap" and "what IS all this stuff" etc. (Precious art supplies if you were wondering. Oh, plus a bag of diapers, which made him pause for a moment. HA!) Since the desk has almost a full back, with only about a 3" gap at the bottom, he couldn't really sneak his massive, muscular forearm in there to try to pull the plug.

So he moved out of the way and I crawled under there. My arm slid easily into the gap, and he said, "Okay, now the plug should be just over to your lef- what?"

"I'm stuck."

"What?"

"I'm stuck."

"What do you mean you're STUCK?"

"I'm stuck."

"Uh. Okay, roll onto your back so your arm turns a little, and - "

"OW. Okay, hold on, maybe I can wiggle it back ou- OW. I'm stuck."

We look at each other for a full minute. Visions of firemen charging in brandishing axes are running through my head. I stifle the urge to giggle. And then my sweet, sweet husband says, "Well, since your arm's already in there, see if you can get to that plug."

I start trying to wiggle my arm over to the left but all I'm doing is giving myself a really good scrape. I try again to sneak my too-big forearm out of the gap. Really, I have to stop working out so much, clearly I've become too muscular. I guess in the meantime all I can do is try not to flex.

I can see that he's starting to wonder how this is going to end. Will he REALLY have to call for help? Will I have to sleep under here? Who will make the pancakes in the morning? I'm still rolling around and wiggling and scraping, and while I'm struggling to free myself, he's snooping around beside the desk and finds that he can actually reach the plug from there. Now I'm stuck AND feeling even dumber than before, if that's even a possibility. I've had this broken lamp taking up valuable real estate on my desk for over a month, and I could have just gotten to the plug from the side. Ugh. He triumphantly pulls the whole lamp assembly out from its anchor and presents it to me, bending down so I can see it from my uncomfortable position under the desk. I give him a one-thumb thumbs-up, then grimace as I roll over and continue my efforts.

Finally, by doing some complicated acrobatic manouvering, I managed to get free. And now my lamp is unplugged. AND I'm not electrocuted!

I love a happy ending.

Oh yeah, and here's a journal page I finished today:

Sideways. What the hell, Blogger??
Oh well.
Love Shelley!