I have an Emergency Domestic Situation!
No, I’m not being beaten about the head and face with the closed fists of a man who says he loves me and that this is the last time he will ever do this to me.
No, there’s not an electrical fire in the kitchen and I don’t know whether to put it out with water or baking soda or a box of cereal or just run out of the house, flailing my arms, hoping to flag down the nearest handsome fireman.
No, my adorable four-year-old son is not jumping up and down like a fucking miniature maniac on a plastic squeeze bottle of chocolate sauce in our white-carpeted living room. (The Stanley Steemer commercial that depicts that horrifying scenario will eventually cause me to suffer a stroke and/or aneurysm. Or cause me to find that kid and force him to lick the carpet clean with his tongue.)
My problem is worse. Far more serious. Far more pressing. I don’t know what to do.
What is causing me so much chagrin? What is making me drop to me knees, shake my fists up to the heavens and down to the hell(s?), and plead with a higher or lower power to “please help, oh please, I’ll do anything you say!” if only I can be relieved of my burden?
This: The drawstring came out of one my favorite pairs of yoga pants!
Can anyone tell me how to put it back in? Do I use a hanger? A knitting needle? Telepathy? Chocolate sauce?
Any McGyvers out there who can help a damsel in entirely too much distress?