When I was a kid, I utterly failed to
master the art of putting shirts on frontwards. Undershirts, Tees,
anything without buttons was hit-or-miss for me. I can't recall how
my parents felt about it, but if they corrected me, they were kind
and gentle.
If they hadn't been kind and gentle, I
would remember, the way I remember being at summer camp when I
was ten, mercilessly teased for wearing shirts backwards. A counselor
took me aside and told me the sure-fire trick: Lay the shirt on my
bed, front-side down. Then lift it up and put it on, and presto! It
would go on the right way.
I carefully followed these instructions
for three days; three horrible days of being told my shirt was
backwards, and going back to the bunk until in desperation I got it
right. On the fourth day, I tried to be analytical. That counselor
had given me the solution! I must be doing something wrong.
Once again I laid the shirt on the bed,
front side down. Then I watched myself like a hawk, as I reached out
with my arms crossed and lifted the shirt. As I uncrossed my arms,
the shirt twisted around backward. WHY HAD I DECIDED TO CROSS MY ARMS???
I got through the rest of camp with my
shirts properly on.
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