Some accidents are just not. Accidents, that is. Sometimes I seem to beg for them to happen. Like yesterday, when I was hauling in a Costco-sized package of toilet paper from the car, in my especially floppy flip-flops, and tried to step over the doggy fence that corrals my babies. Big boom. All the way down, I prayed my bones really were 30 years younger than my age. Funny prayer. Lord, let me bounce. It's always kind of shocking to find myself horizontal all of a sudden, so I had to kind of shake myself off, then gingerly rise again. And what a miracle, everything still worked! I hit my right arm, knee and hip. Wow, I thought, that'll leave a scar. But this morning, not even a bruise! Okay, a little on my arm, and I'm sore there, a little if I push at it, which I don't plan on doing again any time soon. Bit the bullet, again. Last time I did this was in the pre-Pickle days, because I remember Boo and I were perambulating along College Ave. in the area without a sidewalk, and I stepped down on a rock that just ruined my balance, and I fell into a ditch. That time, I bruised my shoulder pretty badly. Anyhow, it is a wake-up call, like PAY ATTENTION, cowwoman! I got the message.
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