My husband asked me, "So what did you do today?" 
 
Funny you should ask.
 
I decided to try on a dress my best friend gave me. My daughters were both asleep and this should've been a non-event. Try on a dress. Like it, keep it. Don't like it, pass it along. 
 
I unzipped it to the seam that ran across the middle of the back. Stepping into the dress wouldn't work so it had to go over my head. Not a Claustrophobic's ideal scenario, but I'm a 2-time Tough Mudder and I will not be intimidated by a dress. Cue the Rocky theme song as I bunched the dress up as tight as I could, quickly rammed my head and arms through the hole, fought off tears when it got stuck above my chest, and danced around hyperventilating while I frantically pulled it over my bare boobs, because heaven forbid I put a bra and underwear on in case of emergency. 
 
I successfully squeezed everything into their proper compartments, checked out the end result in the bathroom mirror, and decided the dress was a keeper. Then I realized I had to do everything in reverse to get the thing back off. I pulled the dress up and struggled until my boobs finally plopped out of the bottom. That left me with the dress bunched up underneath my armpits and my arms hanging out over the top. The goal was to cross my arms in front of my face, grab the bottoms of the dress and in one rapid movement, whip it off over my head. I counted to 3, yanked it up, and got stuck. Really really stuck. Like, arms straight over my head, dress tightly wrapped around my shoulders and face, stuck. 
 
The panic that had been rising to the surface finally bubbled over the top, and unable to see anything except the inside of the dress, I literally bounced off walls as I ran through the house until I found my way into my 16 year old daughter’s room and screamed for help until she woke up to the sight of her headless, naked mom, frantically flailing her hands straight up in the air through the top of a dress. 
 
A therapist is in her very near future. 
 
I couldn't see her, but by the disgusted sound effects, I could tell she didn't want to become involved in whatever twisted nightmare I had going on here, but she had no choice. She didn't ask me what happened. That was pretty obvious. Her only question was, "Why are you wet?!?"  That would be profuse sweating, how ‘bout we save the interrogation for another time. 
 
Our first attempt was for me to get on my knees and she yank it off the top. Fail. 
 
Second attempt was for me to lay on the floor and yank it off the top. Fail. 
 
Third and final attempt, before calling 911 and changing our identities in the Witness Protection Program, was for her to slowly push the dress inch by inch, shoulder by shoulder, until it finally released over my head. A brutal and very wet 5 minutes later, I finally broke free and she made me promise never to wear that dress again. 
 
Um, I'm not an idiot. 
 
She went back to bed and I untangled the dress to return to my friend when I noticed a detail on the zipper that I'd missed before. As it turns out, it actually unzipped past that seam across the middle of the back and ran all the way down to the butt. Game changer. I stepped into the dress, pulled it up over my chest and slipped my arms in, then I walked into my daughter’s room and asked her to please zip me up.
 
She opened her eyes, looked at me in the dress, and said, "Get out."
 
Teenagers and their mood swings. Geesh.

Shari Courter has been married to her high school sweetheart for 23 years. They have 4 children, 1 daughter-in-law, 1 son-in-law, 1 grandson and 1 granddaughter. She's a Licensed Massage Therapist, Zumba instructor, freelance writer, blogger and published author with stories in 5 of the Not Your Mother's Books anthology series. You can follow Shari on Facebook or at Close Courters Blog where she's known for openly sharing her family's many (mis)adventures. Be prepared to hear the good, the bad and the holy crap. 

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