I had a stroke of genius this afternoon.
Nathan and I were on our way to buy some boots for our angel tree kid. In an attempt to cheer my extremely exhausted husband up, I decided to do something I believed he would find cute (which usually makes him smile).
So I asked him, "hey hun, do you think I can slide down the stair rail?"
He didn't reply. He just stared. He looked at me as if he were glaring over a pair of old man glasses, even though his head was bare.
I did not heed this look of warning. In fact, the idiot alarm that most people have inside their heads must be lacking in my mess of gray matter (probably because I was born a Reynolds).
So I slid.
Now, if said alarm had gone off, it would have said "Do not attempt this at home! Your hands are full and you have your crazy "purse" the size of the greater Holland on your shoulder that causes you to walk with a limp, and will obviously throw off your balance!"
The slide was not much of a slide. Really not a slide at all. I did a triple lutz off the rail and landed on my head at the bottom of the stair case. I ended up with a nasty twist in my knee and a serious burn on three fingers of my right hand from an attempt to save my sorry butt from completely making an idiot out of myself.
Needless to say, Nathan got his cheering up. After a small freaking out session where he checked to make sure I wasn't broken or bleeding, he laughed. I laughed. We have both laughed all day long. I know it wasn't what I intended to happen, but the goal was acheived...even if the means were not so pleasant.