While at work today, I answered a phone call and hit myself in the face with the receiver. The caller on the other end heard me say 'ow' as I attempted, and failed spectacularly, to maintain some air of professionalism.
On my third or fourth day of seventh grade, I was leaning forward in my chair, when it slipped out from under me. I grabbed the desk for support.
You all know how sturdy school desks are, right? Not very. Needless to say, I made a great first impression as 'the new kid'.
Sadly, I hadn't learned my lesson from when I was six and I nearly concussed myself after leaning too far back in my chair, becoming well acquainted with a wooden work bench. This was back when first graders were allowed to use saws and hammers during playtime. Oh, the 80s.
At the age of 14 I smoked. I laboured under the assumption that my parents didn't know. They probably did. One balmy summer's eve, I stood out on my back porch enjoying a cigarette when I spotted my dad coming down the hill to our house on the way home from the Legion. Like the ninja I am, I tossed the butt and raced straight into the house.
And by 'house' I mean 'the screen door.'
Once at the Y, because I am a living cartoon and I have no sense of time+distance, I nearly set my shirt on fire before catapaulting myself across a room, all because I thought that 6 kilometers an hour on a treadmill seemed a reasonable speed for a beginner.
I fell under a bus once.
Just the other week, I provided my children with an excellent cautionary tale called "Why it's a bad idea to jimmy a glued-shut jar of Mod-Podge open with a paring knife," starring Mom's Mangled Index Finger.
Lastly, a headboard is no place for an antique clock. That's all I'll say on that topic.