Accident prone

You've probably figured out by now I'm a very accident prone person. Some days I'm lucky if I can walk across the floor and chew gum at the same time.

In my lifetime, I've been dragged and fallen on by horses, fallen down flights of stair, dislocated my shoulder playing tennis, dislocated my knee, broken my wrist riding my son's scooter, and well, the list just goes on. Sure, everybody has accidents, but how many people d you know that's been knocked out by a dog and beaten up by a toddler?

I was ten when I had the run-in with the dog. The July morning was humid, and native grasses bowed before the relentless sun, releasing a parched, slightly pleasant odor. Daddy was in the pasture, working on the hay baler, and as always, his faithful dog, Snowball, was by his side; I was riding my bike nearby.

We hadn't had rain since May of that year, and the black soil path around the barn was tightly packed and smooth, a young bicyclist's dream I remember the wind whistling in my ears as I flew down the path on my bike. Everything was I blur as I pedaled faster and faster. I had never gone so fast on a bike in my life. Then. . .it happened. To this day, I still don't know why, but for some reason, as I streaked past Daddy, the dog chose that moment to walk into my path. Horrified, I realized I was going too fast to stop. Helplessly, I ran into the side of the large dog, it was like hitting a brick wall. I remember vaulting over the handlebars, hearing the sound of my own screams, hitting the concrete-like ground, and then. . .nothing. I was enshrouded in darkness.

The next memory I had was of my daddy running to the house, carrying me in his arms. They took me to the ER, where I was treated for a concussion. That event triggered my "accidentitis."

Fast forward through all the years of joint dislocations and bruises to a year ago

Last Christmas, I was sitting on the couch watching television. Dr. Phil was on, and ironically, he was talking about out of control toddlers. Robert, my little monkey, scrambled onto the arm of the couch and stood up.

"Bonzi" he yelled, throwing himself backwards. His head and my nose connected with a sickening thwack. Pain burned through my face like a hot poker through a marshmallow, and for a brief moment, stars danced before my eyes. Only thing I cared about was my face at the moment. It felt like someone had taken a hammer and pounded it. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw Seth staring at me, a concerned look on his face. "Does it hurt? Are you in pain?"

No, I'm just rocking back and forth and whimpering for your entertainment, I thought sarcastically. I try not to curse, and at that moment it was taking every bit of my willpower not to let a few colorful words slip. I slunk into the bathroom. Every step was torture to my face. I flipped on the light and stared into the mirror. Dark circles were beneath my eyes, and my nose was swollen. Oh great, I look like a raccoon doing an impression of Jimmy Durante.

"Anything look different about me?" I asked John when he arrived home from work.

"Yeah. How'd you break your nose? *What do you do, get into bar fights while I'm at work?" John, a former paramedic, looked at my nose and dedeuced it was a clean break; no trip to the ER was needed.

If my career in writing doesn't pan out, perhaps I should be a stuntwoman; I definately have the experience.