We have a Cross in my house, and it isn't like up on the wall, but in this "hole" in the wall (wow...can you tell that architecture is my gig). We also have stairs in my house. Two small sets of stairs. Up, then a little landing, up again, voila...living room. We are always saying to the girls..."be careful, don't dance/play/jump/hop/skip/roll/push/pull/ on the stairs. They have never fallen or even tripped on them. I don't want to jinx myself, but 'tis true.
Yesterday, I was happily coming down the stairs, with my drink in hand (first one I might add) and I was just walking down. I (apparently) took a misstep, contorted my body (drink in hand), held on to Jesus Christ, (didn't want the cross, all of 18 inches tall and made of solid rose wood) to come crashing down. I had the cross and drink in my hands and ATE. IT. Martini, JC, and I. On the floor. I hear Saylor from upstairs.."mama loud, mama fall". Then as I was trying to get up, I let the now empty glass, slip out of my hands (6 inches) and cracked into many pieces.
It all ended with me having to use a rag to clean up apple-tini from the cross and massaging my hurting hamstring.
It all just seemed so wrong.