Among my more normal phobias is heights. For as long as I can remember, I have tried to keep my feet close to terra firma. I very nearly refused to move to a third floor apartment because I couldn't go up the wooden stairwell. As far as I am concerned, if I was meant to lay eyes on something, it would be within 9 feet of the ground. We own a 21 foot extension ladder, and I refuse to use more than the bottom three rungs. Thus, when the time came to pick the rest of the pears today, I sent Elie up the ladder.
So what did I do after refusing to go four feet off the ground? Slipped off the door frame of a car while trying to wax the middle of the roof, of course. Judging by the laceration, scrape, and contusion on my back from trying to catch myself on the passenger door with my ribs, I fell about six inches. Much more of this, and I'll be belly-crawling my way through life.
1 comment:
We hope you are feeling better soon. Take care and call us for medical advise.
Your In-Laws
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