Fear of Flossing

My head bounced off the vanity,

and rolled across the floor.

I saw the ceiling, wall, and tile,

and then the wall once more.

The view just kept repeating,

and my nose was getting sore.

The redundancy was killing me,

'til alas, I saw the door.

Out on the kitchen floor I rolled,

between the dining chairs,

underneath the dining table.

It was dusty under there.

I hadn’t noticed that before,

but I guess I shouldn't care;

because I had bigger problems,

for example - cellar stairs!

My trip down the hall was fretful.

All my sins I did confess,

'cause the cellar door was open,

adding greatly to my stress.

Yes, I always get religious,

when I'm facing such duress.

Then just inches from the stairs,

my lucky noggin came to rest.

And while my glee was genuine,

it was also quickly spent,

as I recalled the minute prior,

when I was a taller gent;

before I grabbed that length

of waxy string with minty scent.

Before I had my horrible, freakish,

dental floss accident.