J's mother has a wooden walkway from the back entry of her house to the mother of all garden/storage sheds out back. This was because at the age of 88, she wanted to be sure she had a stable surface underfoot when she went out there.
A few days ago, J had transported some glass blocks out to the storage area in the shed and was, uh, storing them there. I went out to see the shed. It still fascinates me to have that monster available. One might house refugees in less space. I followed the walkway out, stepped up the ramp to the little landing at the shed's doorway and tripped off the edge of the platform and down onto two large but empty boxes he had thrown there temporarily.
The boxes broke my fall nicely and I had my usual involuntary reaction when viewing or taking part in a pratfall. I lay there giggling. I still grin when I think of the grace displayed.
The heating pad is taking care of the sore shoulder nicely, thank you . . .