When I was just a sprout (oh, probably four or five years old), I had to get a shot: vaccination, or maybe it really was a tetanus shot. But the primary thing I remember was that is was administered very unkindly, in a very sensitive spot.
As was typical, I awoke the next day, a Saturday, and was craving Looney Tunes and cold cereal. I slid out of my deeply-blanketed bed, planting my feet on my dark purple shag rug, and FLOOMP. Down I went. My leg would not support me. I was a pathetic puddle of pink-and-white flannel and tangled blonde hair. I called out, "Steeeeeve! STEVE! HELP!" In stumbled my big brother, hair every which way, pajama pants showing a good several inches of leg above his ankles. He never could find PJs long enough for his legs, it seemed.
He and I pondered the issue. I tried to stand, but fell again. Hm. He held up a finger in the "One moment!" gesture, and dashed out of the room. Moments later, he presented his solution. A big, square, vinyl pillow. It was avocado green, with tassels on the corners. I was to sit on this, and he would drag me out.
I plopped down onto this novel conveyance, and held on while he grabbed one gold tassel and hauled me out of my room, down the hallway, and onto the green shag carpet of the living room. There I sat like a wee princess as he brought me my Lucky Charms and turned on Bugs Bunny on the big old TV.