I went out one night and we had just had our car modified to fit our three boys, and put another row of seats into the back of the station wagon. You know the ones that face the wrong way so everyone vomits.
Had a really dull night, came home early sober, I was driving.
Dropped my keys as I was fumbling for my handbag, which was in the back of the car. Crawled into the back, back seat and the headrest thingy shot up.
I was imprisoned in the boot.
This was before mobile phones, I couldn't reach the horn, nobody gave a fat rats as to where I was, and I spent the night, in my garage in my car.
Then I thought, well I could be in economy in a plane, but then I thought after twelve bloody hours I wouldn't end up in Elanora Heights in my own garage!
The next morning Mark got up to get the paper, and saw me asleep in the boot. Got me out and told me there was a tiny, little button that releases the headrest.
I just cried and went to bed.
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