“Oh! I just realized, trails are a lot like life! I should write a story about that!” I said, thinking about what it would be like to brag about winning best in show in the Pulitzer writing competition. “Um, I think that one’s been done before,” Mom said. “Really?” I’d thought it was pretty clever, and it surprised me that somedog was smart enough to think of it first.
She seemed determined not to notice that it wasn’t behaving like ground was supposed to behave at all. I guess the snot had had enough of her smugness, because suddenly it stole both of her legs at once and threw them toward the sky. Mom fell in that way where she hit all the parts of her body on both sides at once. She started to say a bad word each time she whacked another part on the floor, but interrupted herself with a new bad word when a different part smacked the hard snot.
“You mean to say you've been leading me into mortal peril this whole time without telling me?” “I guess. But angels or not, you can't not do something just because it's dangerous. If danger can find you anywhere, then you might as well try something epic. Otherwise you're bound to have a season-ending injury vacuuming or something, and where's the cool story in that?"
“I’m not brave enough to be out in the wilderness without coffee. Wal*Mart is closed because of the holiday, so I’ll have to drink gas station coffee tomorrow morning until we can buy a new stove.” I felt a little better. Mom hates it when things break, but it always makes her happy to go to Wal*Mart. Maybe a trip to Wal*Mart was just what she needed to heal the stove and her knee.