Dame Falls-A-Lot. Yeah, sounds nice, suite me to a tee, think I am going to make it my name. (Minus the dashes, in case you were wondering). And before you accuse me of having delusions of grandeur, let me state that if Phoebe (Buffey, of course) can be Princess Consuela Bananahammock, I can certainly be a Dame. And before you accuse me of being addicted to a T.V. series, I admit I am. I only stopped watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S when I could mouth the dialogues with the characters. I am getting addicted to another series, but that is material for another post.
Coming back to the topic. These past months, I've been falling. A lot. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I've been having weird, embarrassing accidents and getting stitched up a lot. (But Dame Gets-Stitched-A-Lot is not as cool, with or without the dashes). A stitched upper lip, a stiff index finger that I can't bend a month after the stitches came off, a grazed palm that cannot be bandaged, that forces me offer two fingers as a handshake, a sprained shoulder that can "act up" whether I am playing badminton or tug of war or sleeping... life's been a bed of rose bushes minus the roses. With a birthday coming up and my loving friends on a mass recruitment drive to find people to "pick me and kick me", the bushes are likely to be devoid of roses, atleast in the foreseeable future.