You are backpacking in the Ozark National Forest in north central Arkansas. Since it is 0230 you are in your tent. Because the ambient temperature is plus or minus 2 degrees of the freezing point of water, Fahrenheit, you have your down mummy sleeping bag zipped all the way up. In fact you have the cord on the hood portion cinched up so that all that is visible is your very manly proboscis. Because you are 68 going on 79 you have just woken up with an extraordinary urgent need to find a tree. You start to unzip the bag, but the zipper will not budge. The harder you try, the more stuck it seems to become. Finally, you start taking deep breaths and mumble your personal mantra to yourself, Cálmate pinche gringo. After a minute or so of this the zipper cooperates and slides down. Now you are outside your bag in your BVDs and a long sleeve t-shirt, and yes it really is every bit of 32 degrees. You unzip the door of your tent, and start to unzip the rainfly. That maldito piece of apparatus laughs at you and stalls in place. After working at it for what seems like the length of a bad Hallmark movie you get it to move 12 inches. Panic has totally set in and you slither through this tiny opening and introduce yourself to the nearest tree.
And, of course, when you get back to the tent the rainfly zipper slides smoothly like that is the only thing is it capable of doing.
Keep well.
Hahaha