Broken Flowers

You may have heard:
Vincent fell from our loft-bedroom last night.

First off, he's doing okay. His fall caused him to break his tail bone, wich makes it very hard for him to walk. And he can't sit at the moment. Other than that, no major head or spine injuries.

It'll be much more informative if he tells the story:

Yes, I got my ass whooped last night, literally.

If you've been in our apartment, you know it has a loft bedroom about 10 or s0 feet above the living room floor. There's a ladder made of two by fours leading up to it. The ladder isn't secured. But we'd been using it without any problems since we moved in. That is, until last night.

I had stepped onto the top rung to come down, facing forward with my back to the ladder, when I felt it slip out from under me and fall to the floor. A second later my tailbone came down hard on one of the rungs. I soon found myself sprawled out face-down beside the ladder, groaning, unable to move.

This left Kiko stranded on the loft without a phone to call for help. It didn't help matters much that when I tried to walk a bolt of lightning shot up my back, dropping me instantly.

After fifteen minutes of squirming, I reached the coffee table and felt around for my cell. Once I found it, the flame in my tail burned too bad for me to turn over and throw it up to Kiko. So she rigged one of the paper umbrellas we'd been storing upstairs since the wedding, and lowered it down to me.

Seconds later Jackson shot through the door with Grace in tow. They were followed soon after by a team of EMTs who, helpful though they were, failed to match Jackson's eagerness.

Thanks to a bottle of hydrocodone and some muscle relaxers, I am now in a position to chuckle about all this. So far, I have learned at least two things from this accident: it's foolish not to secure a loft ladder; and Jackson's first name should be Action.