A matter, as the famous book intoned, of finding the shade of the parachute that best complemented you. But really: With no parachute at all you'd hit the pavement so hard it probably wouldn't even hurt, and you'd unleash a whole new color palate-bone, blood, muscle-in the process.

It's decidedly bizzare, when the Worst Thing hppens and you find yourself still conscious, still breathing.

I fear that this is what long term relationships are all about, at base: full-time role-playing, memorized and inhabited.