Could I get a Darwin Award, please?

Yeah, I'm still alive, but this might qualify anyway...

Yesterday I had to change Brent's pull-up in the van. We have a Dodge Caravan, the kind where the seats fold down into the floor. One of the 3rd row seats was folded down, the other side was not. So while INSIDE the van already, I decided there wasn't enough room and wanted the other side folded down as well. And being too lazy to get OUT and do it the right way (from outside at the back of the van), I decided I was cool enough to be able to do it from the inside, in front of the seat. I had to reach WAY around to pull the release thing and, in doing so, was all scrunched up against the seat.

This may be hard to visualize, especially if you aren't familiar with the folding seats, but just TRY.

Brent and I were talking, so half of my attention was on the seat, half on our conversation. I finally reached the release thing and the back of the seat came FLYING down on the top of my head, snapping my mouth shut so hard I chipped a fucking tooth.

I'll give you a second to stop laughing at me before I continue...

It's not noticeable to anyone but me (not even John); it's on the back of one of my bottom teeth. Still, I can feel it and it's bugging the hell out of me. And I had a BITCH of a headache the rest of the day.

John has taken to calling me Hillbilly. I think, if I don't win a Darwin for this brilliant act, I may move down-river so I can be at peace with my Hillbilly-toothless-ness...