Stairs for Dummies

Apparently, I have a problem. I cannot handle stairs. You'd think this was a skill I should have picked up while still in diapers. I guess not.

A while ago, I fell down the stairs. A few days later, I did it again. But my klutzhood is not limited to the episodes in our fair country. Oh, of course not. I even blogged about a most spectacular fall I took while touring London. This utter lack of coordination took place at the British Library while attending an exhibit. And so I wrote about it because I have no shame. Time passed, I forgot all about it - which is probably why I continue to attempt stairs, because I forget I keep falling.

Then I installed Google Analytics. I noticed an interesting source of traffic to my site and looked in to it. Turns out that someone over at the British Library regularly searches the Internet for references to their collections and exhibits, then features a little snippet of the posts on their site. They found my self-effacing blog post. The description of my display of stair-bungling is a few paragraphs down into the recounting of the visit. But the British Library thought it significant enough to use those few sentences as the blog "cutting" featured on their site for all visitors to read and laugh themselves out of their chairs. "Those stupid, clumsy Americans!"

So yesterday, I did it again but in an amazingly spectacular gravity-defying feat: I fell up the stairs. And I caught myself with my right shoulder. Yeah, that's the shoulder that's metal. And out of socket. And a great source of embarrassment whenever I am forced to go through airport security. It hurt. I mean it really hurt. The Man had to send da Boo to the other room so she wouldn't freak out because I was crying. But I sucked it up and decorated a cake for a party that I went to that night (pictures coming!). Then this morning...oh the agony! I cannot describe how it felt without using Daddy Words. But still, I can handle a little pain, right? No big deal! I've dealt with this almost half my life. So I got the kids ready and we went to church. The Man is very astute and knew right away that I was hurting. He drove me home after sacrament, gave me some lovely drugs and sent me to bed with an ice pack.

Drugs make me loopy. They give me weird dreams about yelling at people. If you called me this morning, I apologize for anything I might have said. Please call me back and I promise to behave. I am fine now. Well, still hurting but fine.