Originally Posted by
CrazyGrace
Between my bun and my glasses, I fairly regularly get myself stuck in my clothes, but I've come to consider it a part of life. What stands out as a tale of pain is the wagon.
I must have been about 7 or 8. My sisters and I were outside playing, taking turns pulling each other down the hill in our little red wagon. My turn came, and I laid down in the wagon with my feet hanging over the handle end and my head, including hair, hanging over the back end. Off we went down the hill. To this day I don't know why, but for some reason, my driver stopped, and then began to push the wagon back up the hill. The next bit is a little hazy, but it ended with my neck bent so far back that I could see the sidewalk behind the wagon. There was definitely screaming involved, because my mother ran out of the house to come investigate. She ended up having to carry the entire wagon into the house with me still in it. Somehow or other, we got me out of the wagon and into a dining chair with the wagon on the table. We had to take off the wheel in order to free my hair.
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