Last night, as I was reaching for something from the counter (I almost said “cupboard,” and a little voice in my head said – “You mean counter, don’t you,” – curses on YOU – and you know who YOU are…) AND talking at the same time, and I somehow lost my balance (go back and look at my theory of the invisible people who push me), fell backwards, and landed right on my substantial tookus (or “tokhes” if we want to be especially Yiddish about it). It HURT. That’s impressive, because, as I’ve explained before, my arse is well-padded, to say the least, so I have to hit HARD to impact my pelvic bones. I sat there for a moment, lamenting my ill-fated endeavor to be more savant-like (in other words, trying to walk AND talk AT THE SAME TIME) and saying, “Ouch, ouch, ouch, etc.” Shirleen and Sarah were in the next room. This is how Shirleen responded to my moaning over my aches and (no doubt) potential bruises:
You know, today at the yard sale there was a “Kate.”
So-and-so (I can’t remember this “Kate’s” name) doesn’t fall down THAT much.
I have SURPASSED the eliciting of sympathy for my frequent spills and mishaps. In their defense, I suppose they knew I wasn’t hurt seriously (or FATALLY), because I didn’t STOP TALKING…