Nearly thirty years of living in my house and nearly as many years drinking responsibly, I've never had an accident.
And then things took a turn for the worse.
Everything was going great. We were having fun. Drinking wine (which I'm not that used to, being a beer kinda guy). Watching bad '80's horror films. 2:30 A.M., time to pack it in.
On my way up to bed, though, the stairs turned traitor on me.
Bram! Crunch! Brmble, brmble, brmble....
It all happened in a flash. Yet, I remember it like it was last Tuesday. Which it was, but that's not the point. I caused an avalanche of noise, a destruction of body. The house was full of six people and no one heard my wine-imposed earthquake. I was twisted down on the floor about six feet away from my sibling-in-laws, my foot yanked back in a very unnatural manner. Lightning charged through my body, mental sensors screaming at my nerve endings. I became very intimate with pain. Not a good kind of intimacy.
Now my foot is larger than the Elephant Man's head and sports all the colors of the rainbow. I'm hobbling around on a cane, doing a Dr. House impression. Here, look...gross, right?
The doctor visit was pretty bad.
"How'd this happen?"
"Um, bad horror movie accident," I offered while shifting my gaze away.
Let this be a cautionary tale to all of you kids. Don't watch bad horror movies late into the night. (And don't drink with my sister-in-law.)