Maggy slipped on the top step of the kitchen steps and subjected herself to accidental defenestration. Through sheer serendipity she realised that she was only on the first floor as she fell. She landed with a popping sound, a perfect example of onomatopoeia. Realising this she checked her hair in case there were any paparazzi about. Still, not one to let such things discombobulate her, she got to her feet and checked to see that she had lost none of the contents of her plethora of pockets. "It's fortunate for me that I am callipygian," she thought as she moved to juxtapose herself between the door and the doorframe on her way back inside. "If I was skinny as a rake my backside would really be aching! It pays to be persnickety about my diet despite the kerfuffle it causes at breakfast time." In point of fact, she was so into and out of diets that her family was quite convinced that she was a real, dyed-in-the-wool flibbertigibbet!

Pant - pant - pant - pant - pant ...