Understand, I had my sofa taken to the dumpster, creating more room in my parlor. I loved my new space. The other night I shut off the lights and TV and strode toward the bathroom. I proceeded to walk right into the wall. Twelve years I'm here and I still don't know where the damn walls are.
My nose hit first, then the wood shelf jutting from the wall smacked me right above the knee. I'm too much of a man to howl. But I cursed up a storm.
I lay in bed with ice on it, praying there was no serious damage. I was limping around the next day, gritting my teeth. There is no way I will ever trip over my coffee table or the excess quilt on my bed. Luckily my nose looks the same.
I believe at this rate I'm two months from assisted living. If humans had a check engine light mine would be on all the damn time.
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