A Tub Topple
I was standing excitedly while Daddy trimmed my hair. I hadn't had a haircut for a while and was a bit jumpy and nervous at the thought of shorter hair. My father warned me to be still, so he would not accidentally cut my shirt or make my hair shorter.
My knees snapped together like strong magnets. The bathroom grew warm. After a very long minute, my stomach became queasy; my head started to unusually turn heavy and achy. Gray dots appeared and swam before my eyes. I grabbed the wall so I wouldn't fall down. Daddy announced me done and then the room went black.
Pain, exploding in my elbow and cheek, brought me back to consciousness. Daddy had a worried expression on his face. Then I realized what had happened. I had fainted and slammed against the bathtub and wall, bruising and scratching against my elbow and cheek on the way down.
I slowly stood up and then was wrapped in a blanket, seated, and handed an awful substance called tea to drink. It only took me a few sips to claim that I was fine, though a bit unsteady. By then I resolved two things: I was never again going to lock my knees in a warm bathroom while standing still for a haircut. And I was never again going to drink tea.