There is a rug which lives in the kitchen in front of the sink. Bits of washed dishes have a habit of slipping off the draining board and smashing on the floor because we just stack them up precariously instead of putting them away so the surface of the rug had become littered with the sprinklings of a thousand bowls and plates and wine glasses. We decided it was a bit dangerous so we shook it out and moved it to the hallway outside my room, which is next door to the kitchen and seemed to be crying out for a rug.
I had to pee last night. Still half asleep on the way back from the toilet I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, which made my heart explode and I panicked and bolted back to my room (firstly, this extreme night-time panicking happens fairly regularly; secondly, the movement I saw turned out to be my own reflection, but that's not important)
I forgot about the rug, strategically placed over the extremely slippy clic floor - freshly polished by a well-meaning housemate. My legs shot out from under me like bullets going in different directions and knocked me sideways and I became somehow suddenly wedged between the two walls of the narrow corridor, propped by the side of my head and my inside left ankle. I remained suspended, in shock for some time, quietly wondering if anybody had heard the fall and considering the merits of carpeted flooring.