I fell down the basement stairs last night.  The fall itself wasn't much, it's the landing that gets you.  That sounds like a joke but it's true, especially when you land on a vacuum cleaner.  I was carrying the stupid thing downstairs to put it away and I tripped over my own foot.  I felt myself going and I bounced down several steps, slamming the vacuum into the floor at the bottom of the stairs and then landing on it, hard, the handle stabbing me in the right arm pit.

Bleep, it hurt.

Fortunately, Jay was here and made me put ice on it right away.  It didn't swell, although for over an hour, my right hand had that pins and needles feeling you get when an extremity falls asleep.  I could move my arm but it hurt like the dickens to do so. 

"I knew housework would kill me someday." I told Jay.

"I'd say your chances of survival are pretty high." said my sympathetic hubby.  I didn't smack him because he had just cooked an enormous pan of his famous chicken wings, a plate of which he was kind enough to serve me.  And because I couldn't move my arm.

I was sure I would be black and blue this morning, but it's not.  So far, there's no discoloration at all, despite the fact that it's sore from armpit to elbow and all the way back to my shoulder blade.  So, I kinda feel like a big baby.  I mean, I bruise from bumping into the cat these days, so how hard could I have landed on that bleeping vacuum if it doesn't even turn me pink?  Plus, I was kinda hoping to use the sore arm excuse to take a few days off.  No deal, I guess.  I think I'll be back at 100% by tomorrow.  By this morning, with the excruciating pain in my arm scaled back to a dull ache, I noticed that I had also bashed my right knee and slightly pulled a butt muscle. 

Bruise or no bruise, I'm not doing any more vacuum hauling.

 

What did you think of this article?

Liked
Disliked
No Opinion