Dangerous Day

One morning last week, Livia thought she was late for the bus, so she ran toward the bus stop. She slipped and fell, ripping open her hand and her knee on the driveway. Poor thing. My husband patched her up, and after she’d had a little time to recover, I drove her to school.

On my way back home, I saw wild roses growing along the side of the road, and I thought it must be lovely at the library’s walking trail. So I went there, and it was lovely, as expected, so cool in the shade, all the woods smelling of roses. But then, because I had mysteriously not returned home, my husband texted me. I answered him, texting as I was walking and, not paying enough attention to the path before me, twisted my ankle and fell. My ankle hurt, so I cut my walk short.

Later, while I was with Livia at her singing lesson, my husband texted me again: he had hurt his head while working, gone to the walk-in clinic, and gotten the wound stapled shut. OMG.

When we got home, the three of us gathered in the foyer, commiserating with each other on our various mishaps. Marshall poked his head out of his room to say something. “Stay in your room where it’s safe, Marshall!” we shouted to him. He returned to his room. Wisely, I think, because it was a very dangerous day!

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