This is three big ker-plunks. It can only be told in ker-plunks because three is the number of times that I fell out of bed last Saturday night. If you think that is impossible, drop by some time and I’ll show you the black-and-blue marks.

It may sound unlikely that an old codger like me — who is a fairly lively old coot — would fall out of bed three times on the same night. I suppose it could be serious, but between groans and self-effacing laughs, I survived.

Picture the circumstances to understand how I survived this silly downfall. I was alone in our condo, which is bigger than a lot of big houses. My good wife, Helen, has been in the hospital for most of the week with pneumonia, and I am not feeling so hot myself. Our little dog, Molly, had been put in the kind hands of her “other mother,” Jinny.

THAT LEFT ME home alone in a big dark condo. I went to bed incredibly early — 8 o’clock — because I felt rotten. I fell instantly asleep. Then, like a bolt of lightning, I felt a hard jolt. Where was I? I had fallen out of bed,  bumping my head on the bedside table and knocking the phone out of reach. I was flat on my back. My knees are always out of commission so I was helpless. I yelled, “Help! Help!” There was no one to hear. Most of our neighbors are off to Florida. I scooted on my back until I could reach the phone and call our son, Tim, who lives about four miles away, “Help. I’m on the floor.”

“Dad, what are you doing on the floor?” he asked, quite surprised. “You say you fell out of bed?” He laughed. “It’s only 9 o’clock.” He hurried over, found me flat on my back on the floor in my PJs. Between the two of us, we wrestled me off the floor and back under the covers. He left, telling me to sleep tight. We kept laughing.

It seemed to be a full night later when, ker-plunk, I was on the floor again. Second time. I don’t know how I escaped the tangle of sheets and covers, but I fell out of bed, It was not a soft fall but a tough tumble. My body ached. I had no inclination to call 911 because I feared I would end up in the hospital with my wife. So I called my son again. “It’s 3 a.m.,” he said, returning to our condo without a grumble, and hoisting my aching body back into bed.

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IT’S 4:30 A.M., and I found myself, thumped and lumped on the floor, body  aching. I had fallen out of bed for the third time. I called Tim. He said, “ Not again.” He drove back to our condo. I half-climbed and rolled while he hoisted me back into bed. I don’t know how I kept tangling in the covers and falling out of bed.

Tim yawned: “Falling out of bed three times in one night is enough. I’m staying here on the couch for the rest of the night.”

This is true. After my triplicate stunt of falling out of bed, I’m honestly afraid to go to bed at night.

Contact Bill Wundram at 563-383-2249 or bwundram@qctimes.com.

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