Another story to tell . . .

How can one vintage columnist find herself in such precarious positions to write about? Hold my sweet tea … here I go!

On Wednesday, five girlfriends and I headed to a funeral in Plainfield. My friend Patti volunteered to drive. She suggested that our friend, Sandy, and I sit in the third row of her SUV because we had small backsides and short legs.

I said, “No problem.” What was I thinking?

Getting in the back was challenging, but I had no idea what it would be like getting out.

I struggled to get out of the third row when we got to the church.

After the funeral, we stopped for lunch. Another struggle getting in and out.

On the hour-long drive home, my legs started feeling a bit cramped.

When we reached the parking lot where we had met Carol, Kim, and Teresa, Sandy and I decided to stay in the back seat until we reached Patti’s house, where our cars were parked.

After exiting the third row twice with great difficulty and an hour-long drive back to Patti’s with my short legs confined into a somewhat fetal position, I attempted to get out of the third row for the third time.

My legs refused to cooperate. The strength in my short little legs was depleted, leaving them like limp noodles.

I tried to put my legs through the tiny opening the second seat afforded as we couldn’t get the second seat to move forward. I then put one leg out the door. It could not reach the ground. I wiggled my backside onto the floorboard. My left leg, which had fallen asleep, did not know where to go. I was now straddling the second seat with my right leg dangling outside the car. I kept trying to gain traction by throwing my right leg in the open air, but I wasn’t getting anywhere.

To complicate matters, Sandy and Patti started cautiously laughing, which caused me to go into cackling mode. The sight of me was not pretty, but it was hilarious. I was trying to deliver myself from the birth canal of a Hyundai. I was attempting to come out breech if I could get my left leg to cooperate.

The sight of a 68-year-old lady doing the splits as she removed herself from this vehicle’s third row had to be right out of a Saturday Night Live comic sketch … back when SNL was funny.

Finally, I was able to land on my right foot on the pavement as I held onto the grabber piece above the door’s window.

Here we see Janet preparing for the next time she’s forced to deliver herself through the birth canal of a Hyundai. (Photo provided)

After several years of yoga classes, I have become quite flexible. However, I was in a new and yet-to-be-named position. It was somewhere between the Vertical Frog Pose and the Pigeon Pose, with a bit of a Side Lunge Pose.

I could finally drag my left leg out while desperately holding onto the grabber piece.

I would have done a Happy Day Dance if I hadn’t felt a hitch in my get-a-long.

I hugged Sandy and Patti and told them I had a column to write. I limped to my car and hugged the steering wheel. I had no idea having short legs and a small hind end could get me in such a position.

Perhaps I will tell my yoga instructor, Joan, about the position I found myself in, and she will name it after me, the Vintage Writer Pose. The thing is, I won’t be able to recreate it. Not going to happen again … ever.

Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.