1. Quickly survey your surroundings.
2. Note objects or anomalies that can create a potential hazard.
3. Promptly forget to watch where you are going as you head into the Great Unknown.
4. Bump into it, trip over it, slip on it or fall in it as the situation demands.
5. Feel yourself being hurtled through space.
6. Try to correct the situation by doing one or both of the following:
a. Propelling arms in windmill like fashion, hoping it will help you become slightly more air born so that the odds of landing on your feet will increase by a thousandth of a percent.
b. Continuing moving forward at a rapid speed in hopes of somehow gaining your balance, thus creating the impression that you are racing towards your inevitable doom.
7. Position your body so that landing will be painful and embarrassing.
8. Whatever you do, DO NOT DROP YOUR PURSE/PHONE/COCKTAIL.
9. Briefly forget that you have arms with which to help break your fall.
10. Make sure there's an audience so that your performance will result in the utmost humiliation.
10a. (For women only:) Pee a little when you land.
As I write this I am sporting injuries of my most impressive fall to date (which is totally saying something, believe me). I thought I had achieved my most awesome and embarrassing fall LAST week when I fell into and broke my in-laws toilet, but alas, I was wrong.
In my lifetime of falling, I have:
1. Broken the same foot 5 times.
2. Three of those breaks happened in two years.
3. Broken the middle fingers on both hands on two different occasions.
4. Knocked a small disabled child into a water toy.
5. Broken my ankle. (I was carrying my 2 week old child in his car seat and stepped on a rock. I fell down three steps, never let go of the baby, and broke my ankle. In other news, I had three kids ages 3, 1 and newborn, and a broken ankle. Yeah. Good times. I've blocked it all out. All I remember is the fall and my hysterical laughter when the doctor told me to rest and stay off my feet.)
Those are just the more notable incidents where severe injury occurred.
This fall? The one I had two days ago? Much, MUCH better.
My string of bad luck started two weeks ago.
(By "string of bad luck" I mean "two really embarrassingly stupid falls.")
Two weeks ago I had gotten up in the middle of the night to pee. I was wearing ear plugs, because as previously blogged about, my husband snores for a living and he's damn good at his job.
We were at my in-laws house and everyone was sleeping, so I crept into the bathroom and did not turn on the light. (Pay attention: You may recognize a theme here.) I sat down and immediately plunged into the freezing cold toilet bowl as SOMEONE (my 16 year old nephew) DID NOT PUT THE SEAT DOWN.
Being groggy, half asleep, in the dark and sensory impaired due to the ear plugs and lack of visibility (Ambien also may or may not have been involved) I fell backwards into the toilet tank.
I know, right? Da fuck???
Pain shot through my back as I flailed about and gracelessly tried to right myself. I stood up leaned against the wall while I put the seat down, then sat my wet fanny down to pee.
Then I idly wondered why my feet were getting wet.
I got irritated, thinking SOMEONE (16 year old nephew) had missed the toilet bowl and piddled on the floor.
I stood and pulled up my pajamas.
Vaguely I became aware of the faint sound of my husband yelling.
The light flashed on and I was greeted by a large naked man with a wild look in his eyes and loud words pouring out of his mouth.
I removed my ear plugs and over the yelling could hear the sound of rushing water...
Fucking hell, you guys. Just fucking hell. I didn't crack the toilet tank. I broke that mother in half.
Water was gushing out and flooding the bathroom. I grabbed towels and started mopping while my husband ran downstairs. I heard another bellow of shock and ran down to see what was happening.
Oh happy joy... the water was pouring through the ceiling and into the kitchen below.
Later that morning Dan and I did the Walk of Shame through Home Depot to pick out and purchase a new toilet for my in-laws. (They told us not to be silly... it was an old toilet and as my father-in-law so sweetly said, "We can GET a new toilet. We CAN'T get a new Dani. Are you okay?" He is so sweet. I love him forever.)
Dan: *helpfully* "Dani broke it, so we have to buy the new one."
Long story short, for the next two weeks I had to hear and rehear the story about how "Aunt Dani broke Gramma and Grampa's toilet."
(Please note that the most frequent teller of the tale was my wonderful and understanding husband, may he Rest In Peace.)
I escaped from the Broken Toilet Fiasco fairly unscathed. I had a huge bruise on my back and hip but otherwise was unharmed. (My ego took the biggest beating.)
I thought that would be my crowning achievement, my Mark of Fame at the home of my in-laws. It totally erased all other less impressive mishaps.
Karma being what it is, it decided to prove me wrong.
Two nights ago (yes, still at my in-law's house) everybody went to bed by 9:00. I decided to stay up, talk to my girlfriend, and enjoy the peace and quiet.
Around 11:00 I headed up to bed.
I got into the bedroom and suddenly realized I had left my Pomeranian, Javi, downstairs (he can't climb the stairs anymore) and had also forgotten to turn down the heat.
Because I am so graceful and not at all accident prone, I determined that I didn't need to turn on the light... I could maneuver the stairs in the dark.
*insert ominous music*
I went jogging down the first few stairs when the vague thought entered my mind that I was falling.
It happened so quickly that I wasn't afraid, or startled... it was more like, "Huh... I seem to be bouncing on my face down the stairs. How unusual. I've never gone down this way before..."
I fell down approximately 8 stairs.
And knocked my ass out cold.
I don't know how long I was there, sleeping peacefully on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, but I woke up to the sound, once again, of my husband yelling.
I remember very little after that, other than throwing up for hours and trying not to fall asleep. I don't remember going to bed or changing my clothes, I don't remember bringing the dog up or turning down the heat.
I remember nothing until I woke up at around 5 in the morning with an excruciating headache and my body feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.
The entire left side of my face is swollen and purple. I can't open my left eye more than about a quarter of an inch and my forehead is so puffy that I look like I'm about to experience the rare occurrence of Forehead Birth, something which hasn't happened since Athena sprung full grown from the forehead of Zeus, circa whenever B.C.
I have a huge bruise on my left shoulder, can't turn my head, have a bruise on the palm of my right hand (no idea what my left hand was doing as I was hurtling down the stairs... probably the Princess Wave or something equally useless) and bruises covering my lower body from hips to feet.
I can't wear my glasses because any pressure on the side of my head makes me cry.
I can't wear a bra because of the shoulder bruise.
I can't comb the left side of my hair because IT HURTS.
And I'm not quite sure how to put on my make-up... Should I make the right eye look like the left, or just pretend I don't have a left eye and only put make-up on the right?
Next week my funny and fabulous friend Cassidy will be guest blogging for me! She writes the wonderful blog, Vanilla In The Front, which is a poignant, thought provoking, funny and insightful look at loving yourself and accepting yourself unconditionally. She stepped out of her usual blog topic to share her hilarious viewpoint about raising boys and I can't wait for you all to read it. Cass cracks me up on a daily basis and her boys are as bright and funny as she is.
Plus she's beautiful and has amazing hair.
Stop by her blog and show her some love.
And in case you are wondering, I am accepting all offers of sympathy, Vicodin, and vodka.