So, in an amazingly inept move, I stumbled over the doorstop in the woodshed and while my body pitched hard right, my foot stayed put. I went down like a glacier calving. Except I didn't splash. Oh, and I didn't break into a million pieces.
Fortunately, there was no one home, because I turned the air midnight blue. Yes, it DID amaze the cats; they were curious as... well, you know ... walking around me with wide eyes and switching tails. Hmmmm, now I wonder if they were circling for the kill...
I'm pretty good at falling, due to lots of practice. I'm not clumsy; I just don't always remember to tell my feet where my head is going next and then we have to sit down, have a meeting, and try again.
This time, we got to sit down for a nice looong time. One part of my brain was shrieking that I'd never walk again, and then there was the part that was shouting profanities out loud, so it took a while for the rest of us to restore order. That done, All the King's Horses and All the King's Men (the rational part of my brain) quietly suggested ice, ibuprofen and elevation, which had me only muttering intermittently by the time Bill got home.
Today? A little swelling, a little tenderness, and a new respect for our doorstop.
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