My name is not Grace . . .

I was in the dining room and putting away the vacuum.  I caught my foot in a loop of cord, I presume, because my right foot would not join the left one, my shoe came off, and I face-planted my right cheek and forehead on the kitchen floor. 

I don't need to use a flashlight because I have the most perfect example of a shiner you ever saw.  Nothing broken except my sense of pride in my ability to walk.  I put on sunglasses and look normal, take them off and look like an alien.  

No paparazzi need apply . . .