Singing Finch Studio - Fine hand painting porcelain by Ellen Wilson-Pruitt
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"Open the door, get on the floor Everybody walk the dinosaur"

I have posted here that Leslie has on occasion fallen out of bed. Well things come back to haunt you because I fell out of bed myself last night. This happened while I was having a dream about being at some kind of outdoor summer soiree. I dreamed that the sun was so hot I simply had to get indoors or I was going to faint (apparently my body systems were gearing up for a hot flash) in any event
I tumbled out of bed onto the floor knocking over my jewelry armoire and resting on the floor on top of the armoire legs between the bed and the wall.
This not a great position for a girthy girl such as myself with 2 metal knees. Leslie was up watching TV in the living room (with closed caption and with his hearing aid out) with the bed in plain view from his vantage point. First of all it is hard to imagine not hearing the thud and now I needed some help because I couldn't get on my knees. Not to mention I am atop fragments of furniture. I am looking over the edge of the bed yelling and waving my arms. I could see Leslie looking at the bed as if he was hearing something. I guess he was seeing the wad of blankets he leaves on his side of the bed when he gets up. Poppy is on the bed looking at me yelling and cussing and she decides to do like Lassie and run to Dad for help.
Leslie looks at Poppy and says "what is it girl?....you want a belly rub don't you". I am screaming like Pauline tied to the railroad tracks and he finally looks towards the bedroom and says "well I can't understand you. I am just going to have to come in there to find out what you are saying". I am thinking "halleluiah" Not in any big hurry though because Poppy is getting her belly rub. I realize it is save yourself or nothing so I do the cheek walk over the broken furniture around to try an pull myself up on the bench at the foot of the bed. By this time my hero, Dudley Do Right comes in while I am groaning and crawling up on the bench like a zombie out of the grave. He asks "what are you doing?". This is a perfect reason why you should never keep a weapon in the bedroom! The broken legs of the armoire were out of reach thank heavens. I am now panting like a marathon runner and he says..."well I thought I could see you in bed. I thought you were saying something to me." I am going to have to wear an alert pendant in my own home. This morning I carry bruises and broken pride with my jewels still housed in the now two legged armoire.
So embarrassing that now when we travel and the hotel asked about what kind of bed we want we will have to tell them "one with bed rails".

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt
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