Last night it happened. Ben and I were fast asleep in our bed, and suddenly without warning there was a crash and an outcry. The outcry was from me because our ceiling fan (which had been running, of course) had ripped out of our ceiling and fallen on me. Fortunately, it only got my leg and I've got plenty of muscle/fat padding there! Once we were sure my leg wasn't broken Ben moved the ceiling fan to the garage (see picture above) and we flipped the power back on (the fuse had blown) and tried to get back to sleep. In our post-adreneline high we laughed in bed about the irony, the chances, what have you. And although I have had some... interesting... personal accidents in our marriage, this one can not be held against me! I had nothing to do with it. I was not clumsy or thoughtless or blind in this one. But really - what were the chances??
Now that it's morning, I'm just ticked. That ceiling fan was old, and it has wobbled (loudly!) since we moved in, but of course if it's not falling on you, leaking water, or 900 degrees in your house, it's not important enough to fix. Although I've been and am grateful for the roof over our heads (especially considering we had to live in Intown Suites for a week when we got here!) I'm just fed up with the problems of this old townhouse. It will be nice when we move.