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As many of you know, I don't wear pants very often. And as you start thinking down the same mental roads I tend to navigate down, I don't mean I have a fondness of running about bare assed. I mean pants literally I don't like to wear pants and they don't like me very much either since I tend to suffer some sort of pant-related calamity so frequently that I KNOW it's the pants. Instead, I prefer to wear one of my 50 skirts (ok, one of the 10 that are in constant rotation) even in the dead of a Nebraska winter when it's cold. So today, in honor of having to help do some set-up for the wonderful extravaganza of the Quilt Museum Gala, I wore one of the 3 pairs of jeans I have so I could move tables and chair s about without the threat of any sort of inadvertent booty flashing.

So I got dressed and gathered my things and headed down the stairs to leave when I missed a step and FELL DOWN THE STAIRS. Like bounced off my ass and down the stairs. So as I am sitting there trying to gather my bearings, Mini-me, after hearing the racket I made bouncing down the stairs, asks what happened. I tell her that I fell down the stairs to which replies "Oh. Well I'm ok".