That big toe set off a chain of events resulting in me losing my balance and falling headfirst into the end of the bedframe.
As I lay there hurting for the next several minutes, I considered my options.
- I could call my children in to help me. Three of them are boys, so that would be a bad option (and would, no doubt, ruin them for life.)
- I could call my daughter in to help me. She is 13 and doubts my sanity. That would be a bad option.
- I could call Checkered, and as a loyal husband, he would drive 45 minutes home to help, if necessary. But then I would have to tell him how I fell. And that certainly would be a bad option.
- I am a woman!
- I have a doctorate!
- I am a beloved wife!
- I am an adequate mother!
Things were okay, but then I realized that I had torn my favorite "foundation garment" and that is what pushed me right over the edge.