"So," the massage therapist said, reading my intake form, "you had a fall?"

I answered with a monosyllabic affirmative, but a thousand thoughts were going through my head.

Since when am I old enough to have A FALL?

Why am I freaking out about this? Simple. The way in which we describe an unintentional rapid communing with the ground beneathe us is one of those little things that changes as we age.

For a child or toddler, we make light of the fall, scooping them up and making high pitched noises that communicate to them that it is nothing to be worried about. After all, children are as strong as cyborgs and bounce like rubber balls.

Hence:

"Did you go boom? Huh? Huh? Baba go boom-si-daisy? Oopsie! Boom-boom! Oopsie!"

When we are kids and teenagers the key is to cover up our deep embarrassment at drawing any attention to ourselves and pretend the entire thing never happened or, if you are quick-witted enough, turn it into a clever joke.

Hence:

"Dude, you just totally kissed the sidewalk!"
"Goddamn! Did you see that? I just ducked and rolled like James Bond, Yo!"

When we are adults, we tend not to fall, unless we are drunk, which is funny in anyone's book. No need to comment, just giggle and guffaw along with anyone who happened to see you.

But then old age sets in. The muscles waste, the skin bruises easily, the bones are fragile. Falling down turns into a major hazard, a source of real injury and possibly even a trap, if you can't get up again. At worst, it can compromise your dignity and become the final straw that sucks up your last vestige of independence, leading to constant supervision and a sense of being a burden till the Grim Reaper comes. It also becomes a conversation point that can last for weeks, especially in the lives of those who are no longer very active and therefore make a lot out of a little.

Hence:

"Did you hear? Mary had a fall."
"No! When?"
"Last night. She got up to go to the bathroom."
"Is she hurt?"
"Oh, yeeeeessss. They found her on the floor this morning when they went in to help her dress. She had peed herself."
"They'll be transferring her to the main building soon, she'll be with us!"
"Well she won't be sitting at my table at dinner time! She smells of cigarettes!"

And so, maybe I'm being a bit paranoid here, but I have always dreaded getting to the point where bumping Mother Earth was described as a fall.

In fact, when Puppy Dog pulled me over yesterday, I was pretty impressed at how quickly I bounced back up and how I didn't feel terrible afterwards. Even this morning, when I woke up and couldn't move my neck, I decided all I needed was a good massage and I'd be fine. I was handling it.

Till that skinny little bitch spoke to me like I'm an eighty year old.

Worse still - and I am not exaggerating - she gave me the worst massage I've had in years.

Hell is other people.