Today was supposed to be a nice and quiet day off.
Supposed is the keyword, here.
See, to make a long story long, a couple of days back, we had a little bit of snow. Not enough for us to consider it a snowfall, but enough to make cleaning the balcony a bit of a puzzle.
We feed birds and our feathery guests don’t make big efforts when it comes to not messing up said balcony. They throw seeds everywhere, knowing that Chéri cleans after them every afternoon. He usually sweeps the leftover seeds, and throws them out. But the recent snow made things more difficult.
Chéri is a bright guy, and he suggested that we’d shovel the snow AND the seeds, and stored it in buckets, until the snow would melt and we could drain the water to throw away the seeds. Brilliant! And so we did.
Back to this morning.
I was innocently sitting on the couch, getting ready for some happy blogging, when the doorbell rang. Chéri went downstairs to get our delivery, and I peeked from upstairs as he picked up the first, rather large box.
Now, I have to mention that although very bright, Chéri is also amazingly clumsy. If anything can be knocked over, spilled or broken, he’ll gladly take care of it.
Soooo… Just as he started to walk back up the stairs with the big (and heavy, to his defense) box, he knocked one of the buckets, that tipped over and spilled in the staircase. To my defense, I didn’t know that he had (not so conviently) stored the two containers there (we live as hermits because of the pandemic, so I don’t go downstairs unless I have a good reason to).
There were (smelly) bird seeds everywhere… And (also smelly, and not in a good way) water running down the stairs. I told Chéri to get me some towels, put my winter boots on, and proceeded to go clean up the mess before the water leaked downstairs in our landlord’s appartment.
But, another thing that isn’t in in Chéri’s list of fortés, is the sense of emergency. I have a feeling that if our apartment caught on fire, Freja would have to walk him out, safely. So I walked back up, to get the towels myself, because the last thing I wanted was an angry lockdowned landlord complaining about smelly water leaking down one of his walls.
I went for a second go, downstairs.
After two or three steps, my feet failed me. I hadn’t thought about it, but seeds do tend to be rather roundish, and I slipped very ungracefully, making a muffled ”Aouch” when my rear end every one of hit the (too many) steps. On my way down, I knocked the second bucket down, sending an extra flow of yuck water and seeds downstairs. At the bottom, I thought about staying there for a while, but my butt and back were wet, and I didn’t want to soak in that (did I mention it was disgustingly smelly?) juice.
I arranged the towels to get all the (oh so smelly) water, and climbed back upstairs to get my pjs changed.
Then, I cleaned the mess. There’s nothing funny about that part. (Believe me… NO-THING!) It took forever, but, we now have the cleanest staircase in North America!!
I wanted to make something funny out of this. So I went to the Internets…
My fall was a little like the lady at about 20 seconds of the clip. (Yeah… Aouch!)
As I mentionned earlier in The Cove, I bruise easily. I mean EASILY. So, after asking Chéri, I found out I had a very badly bruised bottom. To say the truth, I look like I sat on a peacock. And I probably am a couple of inches less tall (I think my vertebras have sealed in). 5’4” wasn’t tall to begin with.
I’ll live…. Bruised and hurting, but I’ll live.
But I just don’t understand the kind of people who decide to fall down stairs. Unless they get paid for it, I just don’t see the point. It’s not funny. And it certainly hurts.
What is it with you people?