Hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can?
I was on my way downstairs to get dressed for work, and my foot slipped on the top stair. I found myself tumbling down the flight (ok, it was only a half flight-6 stairs), and landed in a heap at the bottom. My sister was standing there, and she’s panicing. I was pretty much okay, except for my back. I screwed it up a few years back, and now it’s really sensitive. Falling down stairs doesn’t help any. So I had her call work, and I made my way to bed. I was all set to stay at home and veg, and then Bob called to tell me I didn’t have a choice, I had to go in to work. “The best thing to do is walk it off. You’ll be fine.” Ironically, the only reason I was even working to begin with was to cover him, because his wife hurt her kneee, and he had to stay home and take care of her. So I had to walk off the pain, but she got to be pampered. Makes sense. So I agreed to work last night, on the condition that I got the rest of the weekend off. I did the 45 minute train ride in misery, worked dinner, and then hid in the office for the rest of the night entering invoices into the computer. I still would have rather been sleeping.
If I end up crippled, I’m suing them for making me come to work. Grr. How rude.
Okay. Now it’s time for everyone to offer me sympathy. 
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