We are a clumsy people. And by we, I mean my family. My dad used to bang his head on low hanging things all the time. Old age shrinkage finally gave him relief from that. My sister Peggy was famous for slamming her toes into things. She probably learned to wear shoes and slippers as she has gotten older.
Here in my sister Lisa's house, we feed the dogs on different levels. Her dogs eat in the kitchen and I feed my dogs on the lower level, which I call her basement. It keeps any misunderstanding between the dogs as to who's food is who's, to a minimum. So Saturday I gathered together the needed tools and food for Chandler and Bette, and I proceeded to head to the basement. Six steps down and I was there. Only there are seven steps going to that basement. On that seventh stair I stepped out into space, immediately aware that I was in trouble. In slow motion I lurched forward while dry dog food sprayed upwards. In one moment I was splayed out on the basement floor surrounded by dog food, with Bette and Chandler standing there confused about this new method of feeding them. Lisa immediately ran down and tried to pick my fat ass off of the floor, but I didn't need help. I was fine. Although I hit the ground hard I was not hurt, because I have learned something after falling many, many times in my life. Tuck and roll. Don't throw those arms out to try and catch yourself, no hands spread out to stop the fall. Those things will snap like twigs. Nope, you tuck and roll. So I was not hurt other than my pride, and the dogs are still finding random bits of dog food down there. Much to their delight.