Don't You Hate it when Your Mother is Right? Or... Laundry can be hazardous - exercise caution!

When I was a kid, my mother always insisted on us getting dressed as soon as possible, definitely before 9am on weekends. I find myself unable to send Jacob to the sitters in the morning in footed rompers because they resemble his pajamas way too much and then I feel ridiculously Bad Mommy about the whole thing.

Look, everyone has their hang-ups, mine apparently is PAJAMAS. Whatever.

Anyway, I went against my own hang-ups this morning. I was tired. I was feeling lazy. Dagnabbit, I was going to prance around in my long blue cotton nightgown as long as I pleased. Ok, prance isn't right. SHUFFLE. That's more like it, especially since I only downed half of my coffee.

Besides, the shirt I wanted to wear was still in the dryer. This eventually became enough incentive to go down to the basement to fold the dry load. I folded the load and sorted it into appropriate baskets for distribution, moved the load of washed baby things to the dryer and began filling the washer in preparation for the next load.

I wanted to wash a dark load, but there wasn't QUITE enough for a full load already down in the basement. When we bought the washer and dryer, we purchased a set that could handle the laundry needs of teenagers. These aren't quite industrial-sized, but I can wash one heckuva load. Two thumbs up...

I figure I'll carry my loaded basket upstairs and bring down more stuff for this next load. Now, here's where things got a little dicey. Bearing in mind that this is a Supersize Your Laundry washer, naturally the basket was full. And heavy. And then I got the brilliant idea to set it into an empty basket that I would use to carry the other stuff downstairs. (Sure, I could have just put all the clothes and towels away and used THAT basket. But that makes SENSE. So of course... that didn't occur to me.)

I'm short, too, so I have to reach up to drop the heavy basket down into the empty one.

At least ONE mother out there can see exactly where this is going, can't you? Exactly. Because I am still in my nightgown, things are relaxed. To quote Batty from the Fern Gully movie "I'm back and I'm flappin' free!!!"

Yes, I managed to get my own breast pinched between the two baskets. Specifically, the nip. And I mentioned that other basket was heavy?? My mouth fell open in disbelieving shock from the pain of having a tender part not only pinched, but stretched and contorted in ways no human bits really ought to find themselves.

Do I life up the basket to free myself? Hells no. My immediate reflex action was to hurl myself backward, away from the pain. So uh... I think I probably looked like Rubber Boob Woman, there. I popped myself free and immediately checked to be sure all parts were still attached. Then I very gingerly picked up the basket and went upstairs to seek sympathy from my husband.

Well, all I did was make him giggle. (I really should have expected that. Anything to do with boobs or farts makes him giggle. No wonder kids love him. He's like the world's biggest 10 year old)

And then I remembered a story my mom once told me about catching her own boob in a pantry door when my sister was a baby. And now I think I see where her rule about getting dressed probably came from.