Twenty years ago last month we were walking home from school, which was at the top of a hill. Despite it being October, there was already snow; this was 20 years ago, it used to snow earlier way back then.
Anyway, apparently we weren't as smart as we are now (ha!), something about fashion over comfort (as if we were at all fashionable in high school). We had worn dress shoes to school that day, despite the obvious choice when having to walk home from school in snow, which is boots...or at least some heavy shoe with treads.
The path home was downhill the whole way, the first portion being fairly steep, which then leveled off a bit and passed by a chained-in junkyard with big steel posts on the corners of the seven to eight foot high fence surrounding it, and then the terrain continued to descend the rest of the way.
As we were working our way down the steepest portion we lost footing and began to slide, arms flailing, panicking. Instead of just falling on the ground and being done with it, we tried to gain balance, all the while speeding down the hill on those flat dress shoes with no traction.
Before we could think to aim for the chain fencing around the junkyard to stop our uncontrollable flailing down the hill, our face beat us to it and smacked right into the round steel post on the corner of the junkyard, teeth first.
Laying on the ground spitting blood and broken teeth onto the white snow, the two boys who were walking us home laughed and laughed. Boys are obviously great friends.
Unfortunately, dad didn't find it funny, nor the dental bill that followed. That year we had a chipped tooth fixed and a post, which is a tooth basically attached to a screw, implanted into the top row of teeth.