As I think I've mentioned before, I have an incredible capacity for injuring myself. Even when it doesn't seem possible, I can guarantee that I will fall over it, fall off it, cut myself on it or crash into it.
I don't know why this always happens. A recent study by the University of Queensland found that drinkers are four times likely than non drinkers to injure themselves (they needed a study to find that out? If they'd gotten a few of my friends together with a couple of bottles of vodka, we could have proved the same thing in a couple of hours). But I barely drink anymore. All of my most recent injuries occurred when I was purely sober.
Take yesterday afternoon...
I was taking the garbage out, and pulled the front door shut behind me in a hurry to stop Xander from escaping. So much of a hurry I forgot to put the lock on the latch. Okay, so I was locked out, but the kitchen window was open, so it was okay.
Or so I thought.
The base of the window is 5 feet off the ground from the outside, with nowhere to get a foothold. And I don't have the strength in my arms to lift myself up. I was going to have to jump for it, and hope for the best.
On the first try, I cut my hands on the nails in the windowframe. On the second attempt I made it...to land with my abdomen heavily on the window runners. "Oh my god, this is the worst pain ever!" I gasped, and set about wiggling the rest of my corpulence through the window. Somehow, I ended up in a semi-squatting position over the taps (the kitchen sink being right under the window).
Well, having the taps jabbing into the back of my thighs made landing on the runners seem about as painful as chipping a nail. I screamed. Xander, distressed by the sight of me in pain and bewildered as to why I'd come in through the window when we have a perfectly good front door, began to cry the special wail he reserves for trips to the vet. I tried to extricate myself. Somehow, I seemed to be stuck. My life flashed before my eyes...all the exciting things I always meant to do, all the people I never told I loved, all those pizza coupons I never used. Finally I wrested myself free, leaped over the sink and tumbled in a heap to the floor.
At least I have the scars to show for my little adventure. My hands are cut. My ribs are bruised. It hurts to stand up and it hurts to sit down and it hurts to walk and it hurts to breathe. But the most interesting bruises are on my thighs, which look like I've been on the recieving end of a particularly vigorous bondage session.
So your sympathy would be appreciated. But first let me extend mine to you, for making you think about my thighs. Toot could take lessons...