So, I was running slightly late the other day. I had taken my time checking my e-mail, eating breakfast, sitting and staring at the wall thinking about nothing, putting my dishes away and starting the dishwasher... and then I looked at the clock. I was in my room. I jumped up from the chair I was lounging in, and I was in automatic, highly concentrated, do-everything-all-at-once mode. In a minute and a half I had dressed: black slacks (ironed down the front middle, of course), turquoise silky collared short-sleeved shirt, black suit jacket, and heels. No tights. I would never in my life normally wear heels (I have bad balance), but for first impression (or in this case, second impression) interviews I feel it is fashionably necessary. I'm not sure why. When the minute and a half had expired and I had located my purse and keys, I realized my phone was in the bathroom on the opposite side of the house. So, as I usually do when I'm in a hurry, I decided to run. I went clumsily, awkwardly, clumping, out the bedroom door, down the hallway, through the living room (avoiding tripping on the rug = great sign), and I could see the final destination in sight. The bathroom door. And that's when I fell. My feet slipped out from under me. I thought such scenes only happened in movies. First one foot, then the other. My arms went slow-motion-rotating behind my body trying to catch me. They didn't. I landed on the white tile floor and to my confusion, as I landed, small bubbles floated up around me a couple inches off the ground. I started laughing, that kind of hilarity sprung by outlandish occurrences. I sat up, slowly, my entire back soaked through, the suit jacket and shirt in a wet, soapy substance. As it turned out, I had put dishwashing liquid soap in the dishwasher, not dishwasher liquid soap.