Exsqueeze me

The measure of a true klutz: being able to fall backwards into an impossibly tight spot in such a graceful, semi-slow motion as to look choreographed. Your kid reaches down and gives his mom a hug, lets go, and then she does this dance.

John ran for the icepacks. Richard, from across the house, ran for the noise. And then stood there speechless, not daring to laugh till I gave him the huge silly fake grin that the situation so much needed.

That was last night, and icepacks notwithstanding, I’m typing gingerly. The knitting probably won’t go on strike, but it might stage a slowdown for a day or two to show management who’s boss.

And yes, it was very funny. And no, there are no photos. Thank goodness!