I’ve done the move hundreds of times. Put the fuel nozzle in the filler neck, begin pumping gas, get the squeegee, then step over the loop of the fuel hose on my way to cleaning the windshield. No problem. Until today.
My toe barely caught on the hose, throwing me off balance. Whoa Nelly, we’re going down! Drop the squeegee! Flail those arms! Grab something!
I managed to stop short of the ground, but not before raking my wrist across the corner of the brick pillar supporting the roof. And not before pulling up part of the thumbnail of the other hand.
It makes me feel old. “Hello, I’m Mr. Clumsiness, your new companion.” Go away.