We're sitting around the rental house, and a call of panic comes from the upstairs. My sister and I go running, as we both have children up there. My oldest followed.
It was his new lizard, Gizmo. It was hanging precariously from the entry chandelier, two stories up. He needed rescue. Now that I think about it, neither of us bothered to ask how on earth he got up there. But there was no time to think about that. The three inch fake lizard needed rescuing, and we were the only ones who could do it.
We looked at each other. "Gum and a long stick," I said. She jumped into action, noticing the fake plant nearby with long stick-y things in it. She got one out. I ran downstairs to start chewing my gum. By the time I returned, Gizmo had fallen into further despair, instead of leaning precariously on the edge, he had fallen to the bottom of the light fixture. Things were getting desperate.
My sister made a hook at the end of the stick-plant and pulled the fixture toward us, on the landing of the stairs. I grabbed it, and she reached in the fixture and got the lizard. Cheers of joy from six children went up, like we'd rescued one of them.
My sister and I, team MacGyver.