I hit my hand on the piano. I had a fight with the piano. I didn't drop the piano on my hand. How did I break a bone in my hand, if I didn't drop the piano on it? Was I angry and punch the piano? Impossible, I would have broken a bone near my knuckles if that was the case. But alas, the bone I broke is closer to my wrist. Well then how, you ask?
Warning people: this story is very anti-climactic.
I wouldn't blame you if you didn't bother to read on.
But you've already read this far, why not find out so that we can all sleep at night. Have I mentioned that I haven't been sleeping? That's a great story, however unrelated with the current subject, and will not be discussed in this post. We arrived home after an otherwise usual evening. I'm sure that Cohen yelled up ahead to Brett and I on the porch about how he needs to open the door as if this somehow defines his level of independence which is the most important thing in his life right now. He's very independent. Cohen walks in the door, and I follow him. The room is black and the light switch doesn't work because it is connected to a ceiling fan which does, in fact have a light attached, but the light is turned off and controlled by a ceiling fan control which is very convenient because you can control the light and the ceiling fan from the confort of the couch. Said remote control is missing batteries, and is nowhere to be found. Sucked into the Neff household vortex. Those of you who are Neffs will know what I mean.
In the dark living room where there are no nearby light switches I enter and pass the piano, and somehow swing my hand (with Super Hero Force) into the arm of the piano which I now know is very sharp, and can be used to break hand bones. It is now on the list with the toilet, my own inside of my knee, and etcetera, etcetera.
I know you were hoping for more, but since my hand is broken, Brett has to write this post, and you are stuck with what he wrote. This is not my fault. Anyways, you may want to take a hietas if you are addicted to this website for around four to six weeks while I regain function of one of my typing hands. This means you Tanya, since you're the only one who reads it...
Brett (on behalf of Kelly) Out
P.S. Here is the whole, unabridged list of things that have broken my bones - in chronological order:
A rollerskate (my wrist)
The collapsing space between a foot and a butt (every single bone in my foot - I know, right? I don't even know how it's possible, and I was there)
An ice skating rink (see a pattern yet? - my collar bone)
A curb (my ankle)
A toilet (my foot again)
A piano (my hand)