You'd Think I'd Have This Whole Gravity Thing Figured Out By Now

I turned seventeen-and-a-half on Friday. I have been walking on the earth for seventeen-and-a-half years.

You'd think I'd have this whole gravity thing figured out by now.

It is the law, after all.

But no, I do not. As previously mentioned, I took a little tumble on Sunday. The story goes like this:

As I headed down the stairs toward my Sunday School room, I saw a little boy racing towards me. In order to avoid colliding with him, a scooted over, right off the stairs. Down I went, head over heals, swiftly approaching the bottom. My only thought as I bumped and banged along was to stop myself before I reached the bottom and the lady holding her baby who stood there.

I stopped just in time, only to discover that the entire boy's teen Sunday School class had seen me.  The Sunday Schoolers stood there, aghast, as I started to stand up.

"I'm fine," I laughed at myself as I rose. And then I saw my leg. It was red.

I know, you're on the edge of your seats.

As it turned out, I had just banged up my knees and legs. A few moments and about a hundred feet of gauze later, I was back in my class, good as new.

And then yesterday happened. As I ran with my mother along our city's wonderful Swamp Rabbit trail, I thought about how glad I was that my leg was healing and that I'd only really banged up one knee. As these thoughts escaped my brain, I started to tumble.

I was down again. For the second time in one week, I had fallen. I was on my back in the middle of the trail, and  I now have matching knees. I have not had so many band-aids since I was probably seven.

Somehow, though, it's not as cute on a seventeen-and-a-half year old.