Bruises Are The New Rehab.

So there I was...carrying an armload of laundry and heading down what are admittedly some fairly steep, fairly dark stairs. There is a lightbulb for the stairs area, except that it has burned out and I am too short to reach it. Nevertheless, I persevere. Go me. Except for the part where I think I have reached the bottom of the stairs and haven't, so that the next step sends you flinging into space until you reach the bottom...which is full of things like milk cartons, wire baskets, a stage spotlight, an old telephone, etc. Yeah. Which means that right now it looks like I have been beaten with a tire iron. I would publish said bruises, but many of them are not for public consumption. My mother has taken to calling me her "Little Munchausen Kid." She finds it funny.

Wait until she has to look at all of the bruises in person. ALLLLLLLL of them.