Tuesday, May 8, 2007

9.9, 9.9, 9.7, and 2.5 (from the French Judge)

I fall down the stairs!

I am hurrying for the start of Our Date Day O' Fun. If only I had sprung for the Aqua Socks or the L.L. Bean All Weather Camping and Mountain Ascent Sandals in one of two shades of beige. The whole thing happens in not-very-slow motion -- my cute new, but tractionless, flip-flops half to blame. The DNB must shoulder the rest, as he has just cleaned up a Bud Accident at the top of the stairs with a cleaning solution most likely comprised of personal lubricant, cooking oil, and marbles.

I plunge downwards from the top step, my lower back breaking my fall. A horrible screeching sound lets me know to check my forearm later, for skin. I flail for the railing as I continue to bump my way down the stairs, grabbing it with my pinkie. Not known as the strongest of fingers, despite the weight placed on it by the solemn swears of school-girls, it bends backwards for a moment, valiantly trying to stop my descent, before following the rest of me downstairs.

I finally come to rest at the bottom of the stairs. The DNB rushes to my aid, to check my vitals and run to the kitchen for a mixing bowl so I can throw up. It appears that I am suffering no life-threatening injury, although the aforementioned skin is MIA, and my pinkie is quivering, apparently in shame. After a brief lie-down to wait out the return of my normal heart rhythm, I touch up my lip gloss and down a too-large dose of ibuprofen.

As we leave the house, the DNB, kindly, tells me the whole thing was remarkably graceful.

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