That has been my watchword these last few hours. Late yesterday afternoon I had to venture into our basement, a true dirt floor Michigan cellar. A circuit breaker needed to be flipped, and I was the only one available.
So armed with flashlight (the same circuit controls most of the basement lights) and a broom (gotta keep the nasty cobwebs out of my hair), I featured forth. I unfortunately did not realize the floor was covered with a slick coat of mud.
Down I went, on my arse. In the process, I twisted or wrenched both knees. Ouch! After bawling and feeling sorry about my knees for a few minutes, with visions of dying there, undiscovered, I managed to get myself up. For a minute I felt worse about my formerly clean shorts. Then I took a step.
Yikes. That's when I discovered I had something I had only heard of last week. The Allen Knees. I managed to hobble to the breaker box and back upstairs. I was able to get the mud caked shirt and shorts off and managed to shower off the mud. After getting my legs over the sides of the tall old tub with feet.
Then I turned to my new best friend.....
Now excuse me while I hobble around a bit. But on the bright side, nothing else hurts.