I read an article oh so many years ago about a person being killed by a beach umbrella.  It lead me down a bizarre journey that included the book Death in Yellowstone, by Lee H. Whittlesey and the annual warped enjoyment of reading the latest Darwin Awards.

I am known, unfortunately, as a person who will struggle to hold back laughter, usually unsuccessfully – if you fall.  In general, I’m a pretty nice sort.  I do not wish anyone ill.  I am not unkind.  But please, oh please, do not fall down in front of me.

And I’m not alone in that, am I?  I did a little bit of research.  This is what an article in Scientific America had to say about laughing at another person falling down:

‘The first requirement is the “play frame,” which puts a real-life event in a nonserious context and allows for an atypical psychological reaction. Play frames explain why most people will not find it comical if someone falls from a 10-story building and dies: in this instance, the falling person’s distress hinders the establishment of the nonserious context. But if a woman casually walking down the street trips and flails hopelessly as she stumbles to the ground, the play frame may be established, and an observer may find the event amusing.’

So, I must have an over developed play frame.

I bring you a moment of play frame, as my gift in the day.  It involves what it is like inside my rather out of control imagination.

This morning I am doing a large bit of quick-hurry-up cleaning in preparation for a friend to come and pet sit while we have a short trip.  My laundry area is in the basement and my knees really dislike the trip up and down those stairs.  I begin my slow step by step descent into laundry land with the caution I always use.  (Falling down the stairs, in my little head, equals maiming.) As I drop laundry into the washer, I realize that the clothes that I am currently wearing are also needed for the weekend.  Not being one to waste steps (I hurt, remember?), I strip everything off and drop those items in the washer as well.

Setting up the imagination, now.  Darwin Awards especially in mind.  This. Is. A. Death. Moment.

And when, not if, I FALL DOWN THE STAIRS, I will do so – and thereby be found – naked.

Dilemma.  Rush up the stairs and increase the risk of falling so that my imagination will not increase the scenario?  Take it exceptionally slowly and assure success?  Slow ascent is selected by brain.

Three quarters up the flight of stairs (it felt like an eternity).  A KNOCK ON MY DOOR.

Stand on that one a second.  We live on 98 acres in the middle of nowhere in Ohio.  It’s 28 degrees outside.  Our lane is about 3 football fields long and absolutely treacherous!  There is not now, nor is there ever, a reasonable possibility of an unannounced visitor at our home.

Has my friend arrived early?  Did our brand new Amish neighbors decide to bop up and say hello?  Is it a delivery and I’m never at home to know that they knock when they bring them during the day?  I DON’T HAVE ANY CLOTHES ON AND EVERYTHING THAT I COULD PUT ON IS NOW VERY WET.

My daughter can tell you a beautifully hysterical story of a gang of Amish men standing at our back picture window, in a row, looking into our kitchen – watching her frantically figure out where to hide after they knocked on the door.  That moment is now running through my head.

So I wait.  On the steps.

Forever.

When 20 minutes goes by (Yes, the knocking did stop WAY before that.) I pluck the courage to finish the staircase and then oh, so cleverly, CRAWL across my kitchen floor to our bathroom (under, mind you, that same picture window).  There, the safety of a wrap.

Please enjoy the mental picture.  You are welcome.  Don’t say I never gave you anything.

09 Mar This entry was published on March 9, 2018 at 1:53 pm and is filed under Learning. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.