That’s right. Laughing is essential, unless you’re actually hurt.
Falling over harmlessly goes like this: BUMP “Whoa! Ha ha ha! Shit! Ha ha ha!” get up
Falling over and breaking one’s arm goes like this: BUMP … … “Shit. Ow.”
Ha! Falling is my specialty. I don’t, however, fall as graciously as Bippy. As my body careens out of control toward the pavement/gravel/stairs, I usually express my thoughts on the matter at hand with an expletive or two.
After my body connects with the last hard surface, I have been known to do everything from get up and brush myself off with the “I knew that” expression all the way to have someone call the EMS to transport me to the nearest hospital for knee x-rays.
Not in public, but once Mr. Ruby caught me in mid-fall as I slipped in (out of) the shower. Another 6" and I would have been cracking my head open on the edge of the toilet. I love that man of mine.
Hey, my basic goal in life is to get through each day without falling down, breaking anything, or losing my temper. So long as I got those three covered, that’s a good day.
Unfortunately, one tends to lead to the other, so if I fail at anything, I’m pretty much done for the day.
Usually, I shake my head, grin, and chuckle at my own foolishness before proceeding on my way.
There was one occasion where I did the head-shake, grin, and chuckle routine, but then had to ask a nearby spectator to call an ambulance, on the grounds that I’d dislocated my shoulder. That one went down in my diary as Not A Good Day.
I’m with Beija…just ignore it, and no one will ever notice. Of course, this only works on those instances where you don’t actuall hit the pavement. Something trips to you, and you manage to stay on your feet…just keep going. Don’t alter your pace, don’t look back, just keep on truckin’.
Of course, if you actually do hit the ground, it all depends on how you hit. I like the faigning death routine, but sometimes, that’s just not possible. The last time I wiped out, I was giving a friend about 25lbs my senior a piggy back ride and racing my other two friends. I realized a little too late that my upper body was moving faster than my legs. There’s really no slick way to cover up wiping out with some guy on top of you, so we just stood up, laughed it off, and headed off. Tore up my good jeans that way, but got a little extra tender affection from the cute girl in the group, so it wasn’t all that bad. 
Last time I fell down was because I was terribly, terribly drunk. Thankfully, I was too drunk to hurt my back and too drunk to notice what anyone said about it.
I’m a big beer drinker, but the bartender had been giving me free kamikazies all night.
Whoo-hee. 
The college I went to had these massive, ancient spiral stairs. Everyone, and I mean everyone, who tried to tackle these at a run fell flat on their ass. It became kind of an unwritten rule that no one would laugh at any spiral stair nosedives, no matter how spectacular. Other trips, slips, and falls around campus were open season, though.
That said, my technique is usually to laugh at myself and try not to notice the pain. I’ve been very fortunate in that I have never seriously injured myself. Last week, I managed to do the splits on an icy patch in midtown – couldn’t help but laugh at that one. I’m sure my fellow pedestrians will be telling their grandchildren about it.
I fall regularly. I have a bad ankle that will give way for no apparent reason. It got to the point at which all of my coworkers were accustomed to seeing me fall, and, other than a “Are you okay?” query, ignored it.
I fall so often that I find I have developed very good reflexes in reaction. I don’t know how, but when falling down the stairs, I always end up hugging the railing so that I can’t fall any farther than the length of my upper body. I’ve gotten pretty good at not falling when I trip on the street, and when I do fall, I never get too hurt.
My reaction is always to laugh, though, especially if it’s ridiculous. For example, my favorite, I was on a bus, Ihad just gotten on, and when the bus started moving, one of my feet slipped. Yes, only one. I ended up falling into the splits in the dirty, slushy aisle of the bus. How could I not laugh?
I enjoy a good fall about 3 or 4 times a year. I always hurt myself – raspberries, sprains, strains, even a broken bone once. My reaction to pain is odd: I laugh. I giggle. I look to see what I tripped on, throw in a few swears and all while I laugh hysterically.
When I broke my foot, I heard the snap. After about 5 seconds of limping, I couldn’t walk on it or even touch it at all because it was so painful. I had to hop from a hallway to the women’s locker room. I had to ask someone to go get a female trainer to help me GET OUT OF MY BATHING SUIT. (The huge embarrassment of that moment calls for all caps.) I had to have two trainers help me get out the my friend’s car because each time I hopped, it sent a shooting pain through my foot. And what was I doing this whole time? Laughing.
Little did I know a Jones Fracture is the worst type of simple break you can have with your foot. I was in a hard cast for 2 months, a walking cast for another 3, on crutches for 6+, and in physical therapy for another 2 months. It was almost a year before I could walk barefoot again. Yea. I wasn’t laughing then.
Me too. It’s not so bad in the winter when I wear boots everywhere but once I start wear ridiculous backless shoes it’s open season. I don’t even have to be moving. Standing there minding my own business and POW, I drop like a sack of potatoes.
I generally just blush and shrug but I’ve laughed at some of the more spectacular ones involving injuries. Once I had to get four stitches in my arm when I went down carrying a tray of Mexican food. I sat on the floor covered in rice, refried beans, and blood with my silly “mexican” skirt around my waist laughing like a lunatic.
Being that I grew up off centered and overly large for my brain I learned quickly what it felt like to lose your balance and fall, or trip on a stair, or hit your head etc etc…
As a result I’ve actually developed a very strong sense of balance recovery. I had my first fall in a year a few weeks ago (yes I’m pretty sure it was that long). I was walking down the side of a short hill which was clay covered and it was still moist from the rain the other day. I was strafing down it and suddenly the clay let loose and I came down, bounced on my hip and quite literally was able to bounce back up high enough to bend my knee and then re-extend it to lift myself back onto my feet. Just in a flash, I doubt anyone even noticed.
But if I do fall in public then I usually just get back up, dust myself off and move on.
I guess I’m just jaded about it all. 
I just knew a thread like this would end up open tonight…
Not ten minutes ago, I was on the phone with cjhoworth, and she was fishing for a metaphor for a point she was making about faith, and finally came up with:
Not quite on topic, but that vivid a metaphor deserves preserving!
I almost never fall-- it’s one of the many benefits of sloth. The last time I did fall though, I slipped on a leaf and my feet shot out behind me. I ended up falling smack on my boobies and it hurt so bad I was sure I’d broken 'em. My ribs were technicolor and the boobies themselves were a bit swollen for a week or so. Lemmee tell ya, swollen boobies are angry boobies.
Falling in public is a big fear of mine, although I rarely do it. My husband falls often because of a bad knee, so you would think he’d be more compassionate.
Early in our marriage I found out that he was NOT going to be my ‘knight in shining armor’. We were in a store, and a very large woman started falling in my direction. She was comming at me, reaching for me to break her fall. I weighed about 98 pounds so we both hit the floor. I turned to my darling husband to help me up, and saw him disappear around the corner!
When I do fall, I just sit down hard. I don’t try to catch myself or anything.
I never actually fall really. I slip alot at work (restaraunt, wet floors), but always manage to recover quickly (even carrying trays full of food).
Polycarp, I was thinking of that when I read the title.
I create creative invective: “Jesus Buddha skating on a shitpickle! Fucking Allah Shiva Christ!” I generally cuss a few times, see if anything’s broken, get up, and shake it off.
Ice is harder than cement. It’s worse to fall on, too, because you generally lack the traction to get yourself up again.
I hate ice, and will go to absurd lengths to avoid it.
I get up and deliver a side-piercing kick to the f****r who knocked me down.
The only falls I can remember happened while sparring at my Tae Kwon Do class
I came into the club as the band was in the middle of its first song. Waving to the guitarist, who I was sleeping with in my spare time, I caught not one but BOTH high heels in a tiny crack on the floor. I went down hard, on both knees, the band stopped playing and the guitarist yelled “SAFE!”
Talk about moritified…