It's all fun and games until I fall down the stairs.

I will never die in a car accident. I will never die of a heart attack. I feel very comfortable saying "never" because I am the clumsiest person I know. I can say, with much certainty, that I will die in a freak accident, much like I almost did today.

On my way out of the office, the heel of my left foot got snagged in my right pant leg and I went ass-over-tincups down the steps. I'd say out of 12 steps, I was probably around the 6 step mark.

I don't think I yelled out - I think I just crashed down to the first floor in silence (well, vocal silence, anyway), which was probably really creepy for the lady who heard the chaos from the second level. I landed flat on my back and for a moment was so stunned I couldn't move. I'd like to think if we had cameras in our stairwells that the security guards may have given me a "7" for my landing. I definitely got a "2" for the dismount, no doubt.

The lady starts yelling, asking if I was okay. I answer in the affirmative and noticed I'm missing a shoe. Getting up is when I realized how much I hurt and that my shoe heel snapped off. Then I saw that I ripped my pants. Then I realized that when I started out at the top of the stairs, my hair was pulled back in a ponytail. By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, my hair was down. Geez, if I play my cards right maybe tomorrow I can do it all over again but this time pull off a French Braid. Or maybe even highlights? (ooo, highlights would be nice) Who knew all a gal needed to do to change her hairstyle is throw herself down a flight of stairs? Office Chic on the 2nd Floor, Carefree Party Girl at Ground Level.

So all this story does is prove what I tell people all the time: I have as much coordination as Dick Clark. Actually, he might even have more. And I really think it will ultimately lead to my demise.

Stairs - 1
Me - 0

Concrete stairs, you win. This time.