Clumsy

So, last night I was frantically trying to finish sewing some things -- I am not going to get something new made for myself in time, so don't comment on my ragtag clothes when you see me Saturday, please -- when the Viking realised that he'd left the back door open just enough for Faust and Fergus to escape.

This led, as you might imagine, to a considerable amount of excited hopping around. Faust was retrieved relatively quickly, but Fergus remained walkabout for some time. The Viking and I took turns walking around the neighbourhood calling while the other monitored the back doors (Fergus got out once before and was found on the deck with his nose pressed against the sliding door).

We did eventually collect Fergus, alive and unharmed -- the Viking found him creeping up the stairs to the deck -- but not before I put a foot wrong and fell, twisting my ankle and skinning my knee.

When I performed this incredibly graceful act, I was initially worried that I'd damaged my ankle. Gee, wouldn't that be just spiffy for Crown? But no, the serious damage was to my knee, which I'd skinned in the fine style of an 8-year-old who'd tripped during a game of tag.

*sigh*

I hate being clumsy. I really really hate it.

verso - recto