The Princess Tent

Brandi and I were at my dad's place, getting ready to head out to breakfast, when we noticed the princess tent my dad set up for my niece, Regan. After looking at it wistfully for a few moments, my wife said, "I wish I had a princess tent." I agreed, and said that every home should have at least one, the better to live out the following scenario:

"Honey, I'm home. Honey? Where are you?"
"In the princess tent!"

This naturally led to the speculation as to whether or not Brandi would fit inside the princess tent, which she did, and led to further speculation as to whether or not I would as well. I'll spare you the details of the origami-like folding of our legs. As you can see from the photos, despite a combined length of nearly twelve feet, we both fit inside the tent.

Unfortunately, while cramming yourself inside a pink nylon tent never intended for the outdoors might be a fun way to spend a few moments, and despite the pillows helpfully strewn about the floor, sitting in the tent for more than a few moments was decidedly uncomfortable, and, like caterpillars becoming butterflies, or, perhaps more appropriate to the decor, like human birth, we were forced to emerge into the outside world through an opening only marginally large enough to fit us.

The results, far more comical than your average birth, are posted below. Brandi's exit has not been captured due to the fact that she cares whether or not she is humiliated in a public forum. Having performed comedy in baseball pants and a bowling shirt (or, occasionally, a referee jersey) for the better part of a decade, I have no such reputation to protect.