I suppose you think a wardrobe is for storing clothes?
One wet and windy winter’s afternoon the door burst open and a tornado landed in the middle of the living-room floor.
Before I had time to lift my eyes from my needlework a little voice demanded “What is my dad doing on the floor in the wardrobe?”
There was a loud rustling sound as Jack lowered the newspaper sufficiently to peer out over the top. With his glasses resting half way down his nose and not a sound or trace of a smile, he looked from the voice to me, wondering exactly what was going on.
“Your Daddy is here reading the paper so he can’t be in the wardrobe?” I said.
“He is! He’s on the floor in at the back of the wardrobe. Come and I will show you!”
There was nothing for it but to set my needlework down because when this young lady got something into her head the devil himself couldn’t shake her off course.
She took my hand and dragged me out of the room. The newspaper was lifted once more and I heard Jack quietly whistling behind it. Off I went to find out how a man got into my wardrobe.
Opening the door of the built in wardrobe she pointed into the darkness of the farthest corner. “Look he is in there, on The Floor!”
I moved the clothes along the rail to have a better view. Right enough her dad was on the floor propped against the wall at the back of the wardrobe. I carefully lifted him out and touched his face as I did so.
“Don’t put him back in there” she said, “I think you should hang him up on the wall”.
I did hang him that day, and he has had pride of place there ever since!