I tripped over the edge of the curb and went flying forward, legs pedalling, arms clutched tight to my bag. Don't want to let go of that bag. Happily , I caught the first wave of my fall with my elbow and my right palm, abrading the surface in several inch segments, but missing my skull almost completely. My hip took the second bounce, and before I stopped skidding across the sidewalk on the busy downtown corner, my body happened to roll face up, and I saw Chris looking frozen and horrified, hands out, mouth open.

For the record, he couldn't have stopped me if he tried. I would have taken him down with me. Unstoppable force.

Having ascertained that I hadn't knocked myself out completely, I asked Chris the most logical question that popped into my mind:

"Did anyone see my underwear?"

"All I saw was legs."

"Oh."

Next question: "Is there a hole in my sweater where I utilized it as landing gear?"

Answer: No, however, further inspection at the coffee shop led me to discover that I was, in fact, bleeding all over inside the sleeve of my new cashmere sweater.

After having Laura put aside her schedule changes to help me bind up my arm like King Tut, I felt the actual pain start to seep into my left side.

It's amazing how often I casually rest my elbow on the edge of tables, desks, and other flat surfaces. Wow.

The next morning in the shower, while trying to clean the rest of the cement particles out of the scab, I noticed that there were sweater fibers ground into the wound. Under the crusty layer of dried blood.

What do I do with that?

I dumped hydrogen peroxide on it, slapped a bunch of band-aids over the worst of it, and decided to not worry about it for now.

I'm sure the material will come off when I'm healed up. I think. Yuck.