On falling down in Chicago

So, Friday night in downtown Chicago, on Michigan Avenue, I slipped and fell in a puddle of ice water. Now before you all make lots of jokes about how clumsy I am, imagine first the scene and circumstances: it was dark, raining, the temp was around freezing, there was a ton of traffic, and the city of Chicago had not cleaned up its corners. It was hazardous. I slipped on an invisible piece of ice that was camouflaged by bad lighting and lots of water. The good thing was that I did not stick out my hands to break my fall, that bad thing is my left elbow took a beating. My butt landed in a pool of icy water that broke my fall. It all happened in the blink of an eye, and all of sudden I was sodden and soaked and looking up into the Chicago night sky. I suspected I was hurt, but I popped up immediately, much to the horror of those standing over me. After a quick assessment of my graceless return to earth, I realized that although my elbow was really unhappy, the rest of me, though cold and soaked, was probably okay because my derriere gracelessly landed squarely in a puddle of ice water which had curiously reduced and deflected and absorbed the force of the fall. Though my pride was damaged and wet and cold, I decided to continue on to dinner. At the restaurant, they gave me a bag of ice for my elbow along with my risotto. I continue to recuperate. My elbow is bruised but healing, my soaked clothing has been dried, and my pride, well, I decided to leave a bit of that on Michigan Avenue.