If my life were a game of Jeopardy, it would go something like this:

ALEX: This injury occurs from this improper use of a tarp.

ME: What is spraining your ankle using the pool cover as a parasail. I’ll take “Stupid ways to injure myself” for $200.

ALEX: The best way to guarantee a tetanus shot.

ME: What is slicing your finger open while cutting watermelon on Friday the 13th. I’ll take “Stupid” for $300, Alex.

ALEX: In case you haven’t ruined your daughter’s graduation party by cutting your finger off, you could do this.

ME: What is fall down the stairs and break two ribs. I’ll take “Stupid” for $400.

ALEX: This proves you’re as dumb as your dog.

ME: What is slipping on the same stairs the dog just slipped and fell down.

I could win that game. I know all the answers. First hand.

As I’ve mentioned before, things just seem to happen to me. And just so you don’t think I’m a TOTAL klutz, only two of those things happened on the same day. There was at least five-years between the first and the last accident.

The pool cover was only partially my fault, in that I was there and purposely misusing it. Other than that, it was beyond my control

We had just put a 30-foot round swimming pool in our yard. In technical terms, that’s HUGE. We were planning on getting a solar cover, one that keeps the water from losing temperature at night. But until then, we were using a ginormous tarp.

I don’t remember if we were taking the tarp off for the day, or taking it off to clean it, or just what. But we had the whole thing spread out in the yard on a breezy day.

It occurred to me, if I held two corners in one hand, and two corners in the other hand, this ginormous tarp became a ginormous sail. Cool!

So I gathered up said corners and watched as the breeze filled up the sail. It never occurred to me what I’d do if the breeze suddenly became a gust.

I had about ten seconds of hang-time to consider it.

See! The gust was beyond my control. And the bumps and lumps under the lawn in the part of our yard we called “the swamp” were clearly out of my control also.

I was only about two feet off the ground, without too much forward motion, but ten seconds wasn’t enough time to plan a graceful landing.

Pretty stupid way to injure myself. That’s why I told people at church it was a skydiving accident. It was kind of true, in a big-stretch-of-the-imagination sort of way.

The second two accidents happened within about eight hours of each other, but in my defense, it was FRIDAY THE 13TH!

It was the day of Jen’s birthday/graduation/going away party.

There are four things that stand out about that day: a knife and a watermelon – a bowl of olives and the stairs.

We were preparing the food for the party, starting with the slicing of the melon. I had one of those Ginsu-type knives. The kind with the really crazy serrated edges. And this bugger was SHARP.

It was so sharp, I kept it in a drawer with the rest of the set, and a note taped over the opening of the drawer that said, “These knives are very sharp! They will cut your fingers off!” (Because I had two teenagers who needed to be warned!)

As I sliced into the watermelon, those fancy serrations caused the knife to bounce right out of the slice and across my left index finger.

Oh, was there ever blood!

I was pretty certain I’d need stitches, so Jen drove me to the clinic to get it taken care of.

The physician’s assistant that worked there was a real character. He gave me the WORST time. Not so much for filleting my finger, as for trying to steal all the attention on my daughter’s big day.

Ha-ha, so funny. Slicing a finger open doesn’t get you more attention. Ask Jen about the BLUE STITCHES she was sporting at her wedding. [Didn’t work like you thought it would, did it.]

The good news was, he could fix me up with a butterfly bandage. The bad news was that I’d need a tetanus shot. Those suckers hurt.

We got back home and finished the food prep without any further incident.

When people started to arrive for the party, I shuttled food from the kitchen, down the stairs off the back deck to the tents set up in the yard.

I have no recollection of how far I was into this process when I fell. What I do know is that I was carrying a big bowl with about five cans of olives in it.

Near the bottom of the stairs, my sandal landed on the edge of the step rather than the top of the runner. That foot shot straight out in front of me.

I could explain the mechanics and details of this fall, because it happened it slow motion. But I’ll spare you the specifics and simply say neither my feet nor my hands were available to break this fall.

I guess you have to understand that olives are like gold in my family. Dave hates them, but the kids and I could eat a whole can each during a meal.

All I could think was SAVE THE OLIVES!

I came down HARD on my back, right on the sharp corner of the step. It so completely knocked the air out of me that I grayed-out. It took several seconds before I could inhale, and when I did, it was like getting electrocuted.

Jen came over and asked, “Did you just fall?”

I don’t think I could talk yet, so I’m not sure what I said, if anything. But I handed her the UNSPILLED bowl of olives.

It took me a minute or two before I felt a weird sense of numbness wash over me – which I now realize was shock. I very slowly made my way back up the ten or so stairs and into the house.

There were two things I knew for sure. One, I was in A LOT of pain. And two, there was no way I was going back to the clinic so the physician’s assistant could make even more fun of me.

So for two days I suffered with so much pain I couldn’t even lay down, which actually turned out to be a good thing. The x-rays showed my ribs were broken in such a way that laying down could have punctured a lung. So, whew! Dodged that bullet.

The last injury involved stairs, also. And you’d think, given that it took a good month just to START feeling normal again, I would have a stronger respect for the pain stairs can inflict.

I was doing my regular Saturday housework when I discovered I was out of the juice that sprays out of a Swiffer mop. I still had the hardwood stairs and entry to clean, and I needed some sort of cleaning liquid to do it.

What cleans wood better than Pledge?

I cleaned both sets of stairs and the entryway.

Along came Scout – who, at the time I kept much shaggier. Her hairy Dr. Seuss-like feet hit the top stair and she became a white ball of tumbling, flailing paws. She didn’t stop toppling until she was all the way down on the landing.

Zach and I collapsed in laughter.

Then remembering my own traumatic spill down stairs, I felt bad for her and called her to come back up so I could love her. But now she was afraid of the stairs.

Feeling terrible, I hopped to my feet to go get her.

My sock hit the top stair and my foot shot straight out. All I could think was: OH GREAT, THE PHYSICIAN’S ASSISTANT WILL LOVE THIS!

Luckily, I wasn’t guarding olives, so I threw my elbows back to help break the fall. I still bounced twice before I landed next to Scout.

By then, Zach was laughing so hard I thought he was going to need CPR, his face was turning purple.

Despite how much pain I was in, I knew nothing was broken. And no matter how much it hurt, the fact that I had just perfectly reenacted Scout’s mishap was not lost on me.

I started laughing too. And crying. Mostly laughing though.

The main bruise on my upper tookus was about 8 inches wide and four inches high. The one on my lower tookus was about half that size.

I have to tell you the size because the pictures don’t give you any frame of reference. I had to crop the picture down to just the bruises, since Jen didn’t think anyone wanted to actually see a bum cheek.

I can see her point.

I’m getting older now. So if I’m going to keep living my life like a game show, it will have to be Survivor. Unless there’s some major blind-side, I don’t think anyone in my tribe will vote me off the island. Plus, think how skinny I’ll get from not eating.

I’ve told you my story, now you tell me yours. If your life were a game show, what would it be?