Grace is not my middle name.
I fall down. A lot.
I'm way clumsy. I fall down more than the average person. I'd say I fall down at least twice a month. Sometimes more. Last winter I fell down three times on the way to class. My office is less than 100 yards away from the classroom. The two people I was with were simultaneously hysterical and wondering how I'd made it this far in life. I have no idea.
One time I thought I'd try belly dancing for fitness. I was demonstrating my new moves and someone slipped on the carpet and totally wiped out. Now whenever my family hears the words "belly dancing" they can only think about me laying in a heap on the floor. Lovely.
My sisters are Harry Potter fanatics. My baby sister is also a giant nerd. My mom made her a Harry Potter cape one year for Christmas. It was a to-the-floor black velvet cape. Srsly nerdy. It buttoned at the neck and had a hood. One day I decided to act like a total weirdo and put on her cape and was running screaming through our rooms and pretending to be Harry Potter. My middle sister, who's room was ALWAYS a disgusting mess, had left a tear out poster of Josh Hartnett (probably from Bop Magazine or Tiger Beat or something lame) on the floor and as I stepped on it my leg shot out across the floor and I collapsed on the floor in a heap. Josh Hartnett was ripped in the process. I was mad that I gave myself a carpet burn and twisted leg; Leslie was mad about Josh Harnett.
This has just been a brief overview of memorable fallings down. There are hundreds and hundreds more I could share but frankly I'm having sympathy pains in my body right now so I think I'm going to go lay down.