Falling off ladders

After ten years of running up ad down my step ladder into the loft, by myself, I finally fell off it. On the last trip to empty it.

The shock of falling off the top rung was absolutely nothing as compared to the shock of finding myself unhurt. I landed on the bed and managed to miss all the boxes and pointy things on it, and lay there for a good few moments waiting for broken bones and impale-ments to make themselves known.

None did.

Oh wait. Apart from a rung-shaped shallow bruise on my right shin.

Lesson learned? My guardian angel is in fact, my bed.