Stupid accidents

I have a blog friend who has managed to hurt herself a number of times while engaged in what she claims are safe and innocent activities--the type of activities that one would not ordinarily expect to result in injury. You know, activities like--well, like walking. What kind of a klutz do you have to be, is the subtext of the post [that I tried to post a link to here but couldn't], to require an air cast and then surgery for an injury sustained by WALKING?!

Not much, says I. That's klutziness for rank amateurs. Now, injuring yourself while sitting in a glider rocker--that, my friends, takes skill.

I wasn't even knitting. I wasn't even armed with pointy sticks of any description. I was just sitting there, watching Barak play (fortunately not holding the baby--he was playing with toys in Barak's crib, out of harm's way). I saw a toy on the floor next to me that belonged in the box behind me, and I leaned over to pick it up. That, it appears, was my fatal error.

The whole glider rocker tipped over sideways, with me in it, and I went crashing to the floor in a manner dramatic enough that even Barak, whose death-defying spills regularly cause his mother coronary events, stopped what he was doing and stared.

"Imma fall? Imma fall outta chair?"

Er.

Four hours later, every muscle hurts and I have a bruise the size of Manhattan and the color of the East River on my calf.

I was thinking of climbing up on chairs tonight to plastic the windows, since it's almost December and all. On second thought, maybe I'll do something a little safer, like--well, like sitting still.

Carefully.