A happy accident

When people grow nostalgic and talk about how they used to climb trees and break their bones as kids, I keep thinking to myself, "What are they talking about??" Okay, either they have terrible calcium-deprived bones or they are all making it up. Honestly, how can you always manage to get your bones fractured, your clothes torn and so on? How can the number of accidents that you have had as a child act as a measuring tool to gauge how wonderful your childhood was?
Well, I was always a careful child. I mean, of course, barring an occasional scrape or cut, I don't really remember having a major or even a minor accident. It is not that I was exceptionally careful or anything but probably God was being too kind. Even after spending a whole day in the school playground, I would turn up at home looking neat and tidy. I don't remember ever tearing a sock, losing a ribbon or any of my shirts missing a button.
I always find myself, strangely enough, surrounded by people who have had at least one major or minor operation. I mean, if it's not an appendix operation, it's an operation that has something to do with tonsils, adenoids etc etc. So when someone, for instance, steps on my feet in a crowded place, and I yelp out "Ouch! That hurts!", I am bound to get a quick retort for friends, " Yeah!? What would you know?" Anyway, I am not complaining!
Now, being a grown up, I no longer fancy about getting hurt, cut or operated on. I consider it a inconvenience — a waste of time and money. So, God could not have picked up a 'better' time to give me my first accident - a really bad sprain.
I was busy trying to catch a bus when the embarrasing accident happened. My company van was waiting for me and as usual I was running late. With one hand holding my mobile, the other my watch and my mouth the house keys, I deemed it possible to literally fly across the stairs. Of course, the next thing I remember is having landed on the ground on all fours, with my mobile, house keys and watch all scattered on the ground.Trying to ignore the sharp and shooting pain in my ankle, I boarded my bus and the rest of the day passed off uneventfully.
It was only in the evening that my walk slowly degraded into a limp. I found it difficult to move my ankle without grimacing from the pain. On reaching home, I took a good look at my ankle and was shocked to see that it had swollen to twice it's size.
My first reaction was ... excitment! Wow! My first sprain! I soon thought of devising ways to manipulate this situation in my favour. I played the role of 'the injured' to the T around my family and was soon flooded with offers to get a cup of tea, the remote control, my hairbrush and even chocolates to 'cheer' me up! I managed to put up a brave face through it all and went to bed, feeling triumphant.
The next day, I sprang from the bed and was, as usual, running late. Wishing eveyone a half hearted and quick good morning, I was on my way to the wash room when my mom estatically said "Hey you are not limping anymore!" "Huh?" And I looked at my ankle to see that a tiny bump and almost no pain! My reaction? "AW SHUCKS!"