While over at Anne’s I got involved in a discussion on bunk beds and the harm that may, possibly, befall bunkees, which leads to this story, which you may think is totally unrelated, and you may be correct, but I don’t care.
Back when I was nothing but a childer, living in Clondalkin I had a little brother 1]. I can’t remember what age he was, but three sounds good doesn’t it? That means I would’ve been around 9. Hmm, I think he may only have been 2 so. Anyway, the age of brother #3 is irrelevant, once you know he was quite young.
So picture this little toddler wandering.. Driving his A-Team van here there and everywhere. Now picture him with his head stuck through a gate. Got that? Okay, now realise that he can’t free himself, he really is stuck.
So the mother makes an appearance, tries to free this child, with his head stuck between two white metal bars. No luck. A few neighbours gather, we lived in an estate, all offering advice but to avail. The poor toddler trapped by his own head :)
Eventually some one offers a solution. Well, they offered a hacksaw. And the bar in the gate was cut through, freeing the brother. Yipee!
The question of how exactly his head had gone through the bars to end up stuck so firmly was resolved: It hadn’t!
Brother #3 had squeezed his body through, an attempt to escape no doubt, but his giant head had prevented him from making it outside the garden.
And no, of course we never teased him about it when he was older. Would a family ever stoop to reliving such trauma!!! *wounded innocence*
2] – I always have to pause and figure out which is the verb and which the noun, advice or advise. (back)