Write the first thoughts that come to your mind when you look at this picture.
Stairs are treacherous. As a young mother, I am very familiar with hovering over my toddlers anytime they are around stairs, just waiting for that moment when I need to snatch their arm as they teeter on the edge. Sometimes I have missed the snatch, as the tiny white scar on my daughter's forehead can evidence.
But these rickety wooden stairs actually remind me of a funny story from my childhood. Growing up, the stairs in our house had a broken step at the bottom; it was at an angle while all the others had a defined edge. One night, for some unknown reason, my dad took it upon himself to repair the broken step. He removed the carpet and the wood so instead of a step a hole gaped into the storage closet underneath the stairs.
I knew my dad was fixing the step. His tools were all over the stairs. And yet, somehow, as I trotted down the stairs after putting my pajamas on, I stepped right into that hole. As I cried for help, my sisters busted up laughing at the sight of my legs dangling down into the storage closet.
Dad (or Mom, I can't remember) helped me out, and the story should end there, right?
Wrong.
After going upstairs again to grab a book, I trotted downstairs and stepped into the hole again.
You'd think I would have learned, right?
Wrong.
My sisters once again howled with laughter at my plight.
I think this story reveals so much about the multitude of issues that plague me to this day. Namely that I am a klutz and it takes me lots and lots of times to get things right.
And also that my sisters are really mean.
Happy Writing Prompt-ing!
Love,
The Brown-Eyed Girl
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