Cracked

This drought we're in is becoming most unpleasant.  There is a crack in front of our house that is so large that I can't help but trip over it or get my toes caught in it every single time I am forced to cross it.  And I know it's there, but it's out to get me.  One time, with grocery bags in tote, I even dared to jump over the crack just to prove, once and for all, that it was possible to cross over said crack with dignity.  You know the ending.  Groceries all over the ground, me crawling around to pick them up with my bruised pride, two kids doubled over with laughter in the background. 

But after last night, I'm beginning to think it's not the crack at all.  It might be me.  Might.

The kids and I were playing tag in the house and I was the dreaded 'it'.  Trailing close on Mae's heels, she ran through the laundry room and jumped over the overturned laundry basket with much grace and stealth.  The same laundry basket that I ran directly into at full speed, causing a very loud crash.  The end result was a bloody toe and black/blue shin.  I was at least smart enough to take advantage of the situation.  Rolling around on the floor, I fake-cried.  A very worried little Mae came over to console my pain and as she neared, I tapped her arm, said, "You're it", and tried to race away.  The racing away part didn't work so well with my new injury so I ended up pouting and quitting and calling the world and everything in it unfair.

I think I should invest in a mobility cane.  At least when I run into things or fall down, people will feel sorry for me because they'll think I'm blind, which seems better than feeling sorry for me because I'm...what's the word for it?...oh, yeah...ME.