I know how to take a fall, having years of practice. While never officially diagnosed with vestibular difficulties, I find balance a challenge. Forget about skiing; I'm still mastering walking. My ankle turns at random moments, regardless of terrain, and I never wear high heels.

The best advice for the upright-challenged is to just go with it. Never fight a fall. Be the fall. It happens in slow-motion when you relax and surrender to it. Also, never try to catch yourself with your hands, which is a good way to break a wrist. If you time the shoulder roll precisely, you will be on your feet before anyone even notices your skirt flew over your head.

Apparently, the inability to stay on your feet is hereditary. My mother has broken her ankle three times. One episode involved stairs and calf-flattering shoes, and another was on ice. The last time she never even fell, just turned wrong on a bowling approach. A nurse happened to be on the opposing team, commenting, "That didn't sound good," right before calling the ambulance.

A friend described her son as frequently falling out of his chair without any visible cause. I knew better than to answer "Don't all kids do that?" Numerous teachers already suggested that my kids' pratfalls were a disruptive, attention-getting device. I pointed out that crashes were heard in my house when no one was present; the only attention received was the obligatory, "Okay in there?" followed by the sound of a chair scraping to its original position and a voice saying "Didn't break anything."

I also have been known to drop entire plates of food. As a child, I was afraid to show my face at the local smorgasbord restaurant. I chose a high school career of cashiering rather than join my waitress friends. No tips, but I never got my paycheck docked for damages.

Once, at a cocktail party, I described to a new acquaintance my inability to juggle a single plate. My adaptive behavior keeps me hovering at the buffet, plucking items one at a time. Within seconds, she sent her brie, crackers and salmon spread crashing to the floor, embarrassed and eyeing me suspiciously, as if I had the power of Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty or perhaps Adam Sandler in Click. Hey, I've got all boys here. I can't avoid these movies.

My greatest consolation is that Clumsy Smurf was one of the more lovable characters in Smurf Village. I'd rather emulate him than that obnoxious, know-it-all Brainy.