Two Christmases ago, I fell down my stairs and landed in the tree. Was mostly okay.
A month ago, I fell down my stairs (backwards this time) and landed on the front door. I hit hard enough to break the lock with my ass. Was slightly less but still mostly okay.
Last week, I fell down my stairs and smacked my face against the baseboard and my knee against the corner. This time the stairs wouldn't be thwarted. I broke teeth. Teeth, as my dentist gleefully reminded me, I'd weakened with "that effing tongue ring" he forbade me to get. Blah, blah, blah, he told me so.
For the record, I don't have a drinking problem that makes stairs a challenge for me. I have a problem with reading and walking. And, it seems, learning from my mistakes. What's that quote about insanity being the act of doing the same thing over and over, always expecting a different result...
Anyway.
So, my dentist is amazing. I mean, sure, he mocked my tongue ring and made me swear never to allow it near my mouth again. But he also never hurts me. I mean, he rebuilt my teeth perfectly. And I. Felt. Nothing. It was awesome.
And now I'm eating a freaking brownie.
What's not to love? Besides stairs, of course.
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