Sara tried to hug me a little too aggressively on Tuesday, and knocked me flat onto a concrete floor (luckily covered in carpet). I tried to shield her on the way down, and therefore, was unable to break my fall. Greg thinks it’s hilarious I had my butt kicked by an 8 year old, but in all fairness, I’m not in great shape. The whole thing was a blur, and it’s possible I used Sara to break my fall…it’s hard to say. And here’s exciting new data: If you fall at age 8, you don’t even feel it. You pop up and yell, “I’m good!”. If you fall at 18, your injury is “embarrassment”. 28? You were probably out too late with friends after work, and maybe even dancing at The Chicken Box. Don’t let my specificity tip you off that I’m sharing a personal story. I’ll just tell you now. That is most certainly a personal accounting of my 28th year of life. It’s all good at 28. 38? You tripped over a toy. You will be sore enough to skip your wedges for a couple of days. 42. If you fall at 42…it’s gonna hurt. It’s going to require Advil and a heating pad. And from this vantage point? I wish the medical data got better, but the truth is, at 78, my Grandmother tripped over a bowling ball bag, hurt her shoulder, had a heart attack and died. Dude, life is dangerous.

Kelly offered to “provide me a massage and proper medical treatment” last night, as I moaned with a heating pad on my shoulder, and I agreed. Did I assume she’d rub my shoulder? Yes. Was I wrong? Oh Lordy, yes. Here was my evening of “comfort”:

Kelly: First, I’m going to need you to sign this waiver. It’s more of a form. Sign here. And here. And….here. (She then proceeded to pull out a stamp pad, and stamped the name “Kelly” on the bottom of the form. In bright purple, which we all know is the most legal way to notarize anything…).

Mommy: OK, let’s get started…my shoulder and elbow are very…

Kelly: Um, excuse me, but I’m going to need to ask you some questions first. (Pulling out a pad of paper, which I can only assume was a highly-tested intake sheet.) What is your favorite color?

Mommy: Purple.

Kelly: How do you feel about keychains?

Mommy: Keychains?

Kelly: Yes (like it was the most obvious question in the world), KEYCHAINS.

Mommy: I am neutral.

Kelly: Good. On a 6-sided die, what is your favorite number? A 6-sided die is numbered 1 through 6, in case you didn’t know.

Mommy: Thank you. My favorite number is 3.

Kelly: I will be right back. (She returned with a tube of neosporin and a purple dice keychain. So that explains everything.) Do you have any cuts or scrapes?

Mommy: My knee.

Kelly: This is indeed, a scrape in need of attention. (She then applied neosporin, and spun the keychain dice, making sure it always ended pointing at my knee with the 3, while chanting. I have to admire her commitment to all fields of medicine, both traditional and alternative. I’m on board with holistic care.) Let me look at your back.

Mommy: It’s quite sore down my right side.

Kelly: Yes, I can see you have many red spots.

Mommy: That’s acne.

Kelly: OH NO. In that case, we’ll need a different waiver. (Returning with a blank piece of paper). I’ll need you sign here. And here. And here. In cursive please. Now, please write the words, “I agree to go on.” Oh…sorry…no Mommy, in cursive please. “I agree to go on” must be written in cursive. Now sign one more time here. (Followed by the purple stamping.)

Mommy: Now can you rub my back?

Kelly: That is the not the care you require. (She then placed large stickers all over my “red spots” which are clearly so awful, they require their own waiver.) How are your ears?

Mommy: FINE! My ears are perfectly fine!

Kelly: And your hair? Is it itchy?

Mommy: Absolutely not.

Kelly: Let me examine your feet. Oh yes. Just as I thought, they are quite ugly. But overall, you are in much better shape than I thought you’d be.

Mommy: Thank you?

Daddy: Hey guys! Whatcha doing?

Kelly: OH GOOD. I’m glad you’re here. I need you to sign a form.

Mommy: I guess in Kelly’s medical game, you get to be my next of kin. That’s the closest thing to reality occurring in this room.

Kelly: Oh no! He’s not signing as your medical person. I need him to PAY. You owe me $500 already.

Daddy: Yes, that’s pretty much my job around here. Where do I sign?

Kelly: Thank you! AND, we’re all done here.

Upon which I proceeded to fall asleep…for 12 hours. Ah, thank God for Advil, heating pads, and legal waivers. I woke up free of soreness…and covered in stickers. Kelly may be onto something…