Two facts that have bearing on this story:
1. I'm 5'1" tall.
2. The "laundry room" in my house consists of one of those stackable washer/dryer units, dryer on top, tucked into a very narrow alcove next to the back door.
So I'm toiling over a considerable backlog of laundry this afternoon, and I go to open the dryer. It sticks a little, and so I give it an enthusiastic tug...and manage to yank it open and crack myself directly across the face. Jerking back in surprise and blind pain, I promptly bash the back of my skull on the exposed corner of wall that leads into the laundry nook. Then I actually slump over the washer and emit a few wet, shocked sobs, like I'm four, because Jesus Christ that hurts.
I have a fat lip and a nice bruisy welt rising on the (already unsubtle, let's say) bridge of my nose; I look like I've gone a few rounds in one of those midnight madness door-buster sales at the mall, where folks are traditionally trampled the morning after Thanksgiving in the sprinting, clawing melee for the last Tickle Me Elmo. This is just further incentive for me to put "hire cleaning service" on my New Year's Resolution list, because I am perpetually proving to myself that housework is brutal and perilous...or at the very least, that I am dangerously unsuited to it.