Woman, thy name be clown

In one of those brilliant, clownish manuevers I fell into the front door while trying to enter my abode. I slammed my left shoulder into the steel door, fell forward, slipped, wrenched my back, pulled a muscle in my thigh, then bounced BACK into the screendoor, which slammed me in the ass.

I've set my chiropracty back two weeks. Oh, I can deal with another week of pain to be sure. What kills is the rampant embarrassment that goes with the fall. When you act the clown you immediately wonder who saw it and how stupid it really looked.
I remember falling in the street in downtown San Francisco, having tripped over the cable car tracks. I saw the hand of my rescuer appear directly in front of my face. When I took note of his, he was grinning. "Yeah, I've taken a header down here, too," he said, righting me. "You get a 'ten' for style." Then he walked away.

Thank god for the Olympics. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, SF'ers, get off the street and let the damned torch pass.

I'll post tomorrow if I can sit upright. My son suggested I buy LifeAlert.