Panic strikes while trapped in shirt

I have been a victim of wardrobe malfunction. And it even
happened on Super Bowl Sunday.
I have been a victim of wardrobe malfunction. And it even happened on Super Bowl Sunday.

Okay, mine did not involve Justin Timberlake, sunburst jewelry in questionable places or 89 million people suddenly seeing some private parts of me that should never, ever be seen in public – but it was a wardrobe malfunction nonetheless. And it involved me, alone in a dressing room, with my head stuck in a shirt.

Seriously.

Oh, please. Everyone has been in a fitting room, tried something on that turned out to be a little tight and then had trouble getting it off. Usually, you can just twist around a bit and the offending garment miraculously pops off your body.

Not this time.

No, this time I was truly stuck. My arms were straight up in the air, tightly wrapped in the shirt. My head was covered, my nose squished into the fabric. At first, I tried to think slimming thoughts – but my head and arms stubbornly remained the same size. With a supreme effort, I twisted. I turned. I said many swear words that cannot be printed in this newspaper.

Then I realized that perhaps I should undo the zipper.

Unfortunately, all this twisting and turning had – well – twisted and turned the stupid shirt into a sort of noose. And the zipper was now upside down and inside out and completely unreachable.

Of course, I could have asked a salesperson to come in and help me. But – and this is where it gets really bad – I was wearing my backup bra. You know – the one you wear when all your other unmentionables are in the hamper. It’s usually stretched and faded and really ugly.

So there was no way I could leave the dressing room. In fact, I wouldn’t have left it if it had been burning down. Besides, my head was still inside the shirt. I couldn’t see anything but a too-tight blue and white striped shirt. I never would have found my way out.

All I could do was sit on the little stool and wonder what would happen to me. Would I be stuck inside the fitting room forever? Or after a few months, would my head and arms finally shrink in size enough to let me escape?

And then I thought, “Wow. How much weight could I lose?” I mean, my head was stuck in a shirt. And that would make it very difficult to get food into my mouth. I could start a whole new diet trend. Shopping and starving at the same time.

Maybe not.

Anyway, I was starting to panic. After all, I had been stuck in the shirt for a really long time. I was getting hungry. And thirsty. And my arms were starting to tingle in a very constricted, the-blood-supply-is-cut-off kind of way. So I twisted my arm into an even more unnatural position and checked to see how long I had been suffering. Two minutes. But they were a VERY LONG two minutes. The longest of my life.

And then I realized that when I twisted to see the watch, I had brushed against the zipper. If I could just reach it with my teeth, I could possibly free myself from this prison. And I did. Using my teeth, I released the zipper and my arms and head popped out. I was free.

Which was a good thing. Because if I had been stuck in that shirt one more minute – it would have been me everyone was talking about when they discussed the half-time show and not Janet.

Or maybe not.