Back in high school, I was part of a group called JSA. For those unfamiliar, this is essentially a big political debate mock-government for high schoolers all over the country, thus Junior Statesmen of America. Normally I make a point of staying out of politics, especially in my home state, but that was the club my friends were in, and it was run by the best teacher.
One of the many odd things brought about by this club happened on one of the semiannual field trips to other parts of the region, where we, a group of crazy high schoolers, stayed together in a hotel with a bunch of other crazy high schoolers. It was getting late one evening, and my friend Cello was getting tired. She borrowed a friend's green sweater, which was so huge on her it went down past the end of her skirt, but mainly this looked cute; after all, she was very small. Then she got our friend Ozzy, a big, burly guy with rocker hair, to carry her back to where our rooms were. This involved, at one point, going down some stairs.
Perhaps you have seen where this is going. They certainly didn't.
On the second or third stair down, Ozzy tripped, dropped Cello, fell down the stairs and came to rest directly on top of her. He immediately went into a pushup position and started asking, "Are you okay?" worriedly.
After a few seconds and Cello's sleepily bemused answer that she was fine, Ozzy noticed that people were staring. He was atop her, face to face at the foot of the stairs, and she looked to be wearing nothing but a big green sweater. I think he hurt himself getting off her so quickly. I probably hurt myself laughing.
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