The Chapel Floor Seems To Say To Me...

I went to sacrament meeting by myself today, since Michelle was home with a couple sick kids. I chose a rather prominent seat, third row from the front and dead center of the chapel. During the sacrament, I dropped my pen through the crack between the seat and the back of the bench. Not having Addison around to crawl under there and pick it up, I leaned forward and reached back under the bench to grab it. It was farther back there than I thought, and I had to extend a little further than I expected. A little further than my center of gravity allows for, it turns out. Next thing I know I'm falling nose-first into the carpet, then lying on my side, half curled up, arm extended, cheek impressed in the floor. I'm only lying there for a nanosecond before jumping back up and sitting in my seat. As I turned beat-red, hoping no one noticed, I see the first counselor in the bishopric hiding a grin, and the youth speakers practically crying with stifled laughter.

With any luck, I've secured legendary status for myself in the annals of the 26th ward. To the ward's credit, no one said a word to me after the meeting.