I promise, Buffalo Part II is on its way, but first I had to tell you about my fall. The kind that involves getting hurt, not the kind that comes after summer.
So, picture it . . . I'm just done drying off from my shower (okay, don't picture too hard). I turned around on my tile floor to throw my towel into the hamper. I felt the wet under my feet. And in an instant I was twirling, swirling, pirouetting through the air. Oh, if only I'd looked so coordinated. I reached my right arm out to grab onto who knows what and ended up grabbing the tall laundry basket with . . . my armpit. Ouch! Of course, that wasn't very sturdy, so down the basket and I go to have an intimate look at the tile floor. I landed on my left side. Now I'm sitting here typing this with a hip that feels very owie, an arm that I'm hoping escaped any damage, and an armpit (actually, the arm right above the arm pit) that has a deep dark bruise on it (yes, already) and hurts like the dickens.
My daughter would tell me "waaaaaaa." And that's how I feel.