Hurting oneself on stationary objects in one easy lesson.

Some of you are familiar with my exploits. A search of the archives will bring up my past adventures in skull fractures and acrobatic achievements.

To give you an idea of my skills, I once fractured my skull on a door for the handicapped. I survived a similar accomplishment, in which my forehead collided with the top of the back of a cast iron chair. I have performed outstanding arabesques, backwards, while helping my father move a bookcase down a staircase (he was laughing too hard to help me out.) I have opened cabinet doors into my face, splitting my lip in the process. I am, as they say, “Challenged”, but in a good way.

And so I bring you tonight’s performance, a solid 5.5 on a scale of 6.0 (damn the French judge!)

I was only doing my motherly duty - Valen, the ever-so-starving Toller had announced that 5:30 had come about and that it was, in fact, dinner time for the humble canines of the NoFair household. Not wanting to upset my pooch and his siblings, I set about the task of feeding the three adult dogs and the puppy.

So far, so good.

I manage to feed the crate-rested dog (and gently angle his “lampshade” e-collar so he can actually eat), the puppy (who eats in his crate) and pick up the measuring cup to dole out the Eagle Pack Fishy goodness to the two others. Urged on by the Toller’s squeaks-and-trills, not wanting him to pass out because of me, and by the barks of the Aussie who had been pulled away from a fetching game of frisbee for the sake of food… I bent down to open up the dog food bin.

SMACK

Emily, my work partner-in-crime who was, at the time, working in the dining room hears the distinctive crack sound, followed by my moaning a rather loud “Ooooooooooow.” Silence from the two rather startled dogs. Strangely, I see four of them. I manage to drop food mostly into their bowls while holding * me bloomin’ 'ead*, as it were.

What had jumped out and bit me in the head, I wondered? Nothing other than the sliding closet door. I hit it hard enough to make it swing partially off its top rail and give me a sore neck in addition to the lump o’ goodness that grew at a rather alarming rate.

Again, I have been bitten by a door. They are, to me, what rakes are to Sideshow Bob. No matter where I turn, I injure myself on the blasted things.

And so now, here I sit, trying to stay awake, with pupils which don’t quite pinpoint as fast as they should. The pounding headache and the throbbing feeling are still there and I will have a pretty lump to show for my troubles for a while… and a bruised ego. A very bruised ego.

Maybe I should start wearing a helmet. Now I wait for lno to come home… won’t he be impressed with me. Not so long ago, he came home to me having a rather blueish tint to a toe (oh, yeah, and a nice bleeding cut, too) after I dropped a 1L glass bottle of bubbly water on it (it slipped out of my hands! It seemed like preventing it from breaking by “catching” it with my toe was a good idea at the time! For the record, it DID NOT BREAK. My skin did, but not the bottle!)

Ahhh, poor Elly.

Look on the bright side - you know you’re getting better when you no longer have to go in for stitches…and collect even more stitches while you’re in hospital! :smiley:

Look, you…

What chique is referring to is the classic tale of Young Elly who went in for an injury… and who had a young, new doctor worried about the thickness of her file. Nurses were trying to convince him to just let it go. As Young Elly walked passed the nurses’ station on her way out, she slipped on the wet floor, missing the “Caution! Wet Floor!” pilon and splitting the back of her head open on someone’s IV stand. Comment heard from the nurses’ station: “See, we TOLD you it was the child.”

I hope this isn’t genetic. :smack:

I’ve stopped telling my wife about my injuries. She just doesn’t want to know any more.

I don’t know whether this will make you feel better or not, but my grandmother (80-something) (who DOES NOT fall down) fell down and broke her arm. Her ranting and raging on admission to the hospital earned her several additional days worth of time in hospital while they checked for neurological reasons for her irrationality. Apparently none were found, and she was eventually released with her arm in a sling. (She’s in assisted living).

As opposed to hurting oneself on stationery objects, which is when you’re licking an envelope and you get a paper cut on your tongue.

Or stabbing oneself, accidentally, with one’s fountain pen hard enough to break skin while trying to “screw in” a new ink cartridge.

Not that I’ve done this in the past.

Much.

Am i the only one who thinks it appropriate that Thudlow Boink has responded to this thead?

But you didn’t crack the cartridge and squirt yourself, did you? See? The glass is half full.

It is true I don’t often injure myself (my tip: be very very lazy, this reduces chances of being hurt), but once I managed to slip on a leaf. It was the only leaf on the sidewalk and it wasn’t more than two inches long, but I still fell. Fweee! My legs shot out behind me and I came down almost directly on my boobies. I suppose that was a good thing because I could have broken a rib or cracked a tooth. It’s just that it’s rather embarrassing to have to declare your breasts off limits to your SO for two weeks because you used them as some sort of organic bumper.