Yesterday night, Brooke and Freeland came over for chicken tostados and I broke a chair. In my defense, Freeland had actually broken the chair on a previous visit (sorry to sell you down the river) but it had been ghetto-rigged and was sufficing. I sat down and the chair, in slow motion, slid down, down, down to the ground until I was finally flat on my back, giggling hysterically. It really was the slowest fall in human history but I still felt a little like a beached whale laying on my back on top of a collapsed chair in the kitchen needing someone to come help me up. Hopefully breaking furniture is a sign that you're nearing the end of pregnancy.