so this is how a bird with broken wings feels.

See those stairs? I would like for you to count them. And imagine all the things that could happen to one on those stairs.

So, I googled "cracked butt bone" and came across several videos entitled "how to crack your tail bone!" I really don't think I'll be watching them though because learning how to crack my rear isn't what I'm after right now. I already know how to crack it. (also, it concerns me people have put an exclamation point in the title of their videos. Exclamation points imply fun and take it from me: cracking your butt is NOT fun). And because I went to medical school and like to diagnose anyone and everyone, especially myself, I did what all good docs do: I looked up on www.eHow.com "how do you know if your tail bone is cracked." Here is what I learned: If I have shooting pain in my rear, I should see a doctor. My tail bone is not flexible. I may have cancer. It could cause my lower extremeties to go numb. I could experience sexual dysfunction. I should soak in epsom salt. My tail bone is named my coccyx.

Now, first off, I may have to add the word coccyx to the list of words I don't like to say and do not say. It just sounds...inappropriate. And, while I appreciate eHow.com's diagnosis that I am basically about to die and will never be able to enjoy life as I knew it again, I just don't feel like it is that simple. You see, Friday morning I had on my favorite pair of red patent leather high heels. Hooker heels if you will(and yes, I have learned my lesson that I should not dress like a hooker so early in the morning). I put one foot in and the next thing I knew, I had skipped the hokey pokey and was lying in a heap on the ground. My right foot rode down the stairs beneath me so the top of my foot was sitting between my coccyx and the stairs. My left foot was turned on it's side behind me. I was pretty much doing a one legged knee/split as I rode down the stairs to my untimely demise. Somewhere between steps 1 and 10, my legs came out from under me, though I'm not sure where they went, and I landed on the cement on my coccyx, atop the pine cones you see lying there. The wind was knocked out of me. One hooker heel remained in tact on my foot, the other was dangling by a big toe. So I did what anyone in this position would do: I stood up and ran to my car before I started crying. I limped around for a full day and even got out of work early to go home and lay. It's been three days and while my feet are no longer bruised and battered, my coccyx is still very, very sore. I can only sit on one cheek at a time. I cannot get into or out of a car without a yelp. I think I need a wheelchair. I do however think I am more flexible because of the unique way my body flexed and stretched on its early morning Friday ride of terror. Since not only am I deaf in one ear but now I can add sexual dysfunction to my list of disorders, I might as well go home, climb up the trail of tears and soak in a tub full of epsom salt.

EHOW.COM, you are stupid.