It has suddenly become apparent to me that moving boxes upstairs is more dangerous than I had previously thought. Especially when you’re lacking protective clothing. I’m wearing my normal attire for a day at home, a bra and a pair of booty shorts. I was just inclined to check a box that I had packed to see if I accidentally put things in it that I thought I needed. So I went and got the box to bring it upstairs so that I could go through it and look for my desired items. On the way up the stairs, JD, a cat I’m babysitting for my brother, decided he wanted attention. This cat, one who is especially talented at demanding attention at the most inconvenient of times, then proceeded to rub up against my legs as I ascended the stairs. So I tell the cat to move and he runs up the stairs in front of me, just succeeding in getting in the way even more. I managed to safely reach the top of the stairs in this precarious situation, but then things got significantly worse. As I entered the bedroom at the very top, I accidentally knocked an open can of kitty treats off the desk and they scattered all over the floor. JD instantly does what most cats would do and dives for the treats as I’m turning to try to prevent knocking anything else down or drop my box. Somehow, this motion leads to the back of my underwear to get caught on the doorknob. The resulting motions are pretty much inexplicable in text, but the result was me managing to give myself a wedgie as I tried to step over JD.
Moral of the story: Watch for pussy as you attempt to move your box.
Additional lesson learned: I own Schrödinger’s underwear.