In the past two weeks here in New York, the temperatures have been dropping as they usually do in mid- to late-October. The sun is no longer up with the alarm clock and that delicious scent of crisp air and wet leaves greets you everytime you step outdoors.

Since this is my first autumn not living with my parents, I am also discovering new and fascinating things about my apartment as well. Namely, the deathly slipperiness of my floor. Now one would probably wonder why it has taken me over six months to realize why my floor is so slippery. The answer is quite simple actually. Cold weather necessitates wearing socks. And it seems that my apartment floor has been waxed with Astro Glide.

I first discovered how bad it actually is last weekend. I woke up Sunday morning and walked out of my bedroom with the intention of heading toward the bathroom. So through the carpeted living room I went with my feet warmly enveloped in a pair of crew socks. However, as I stepped onto the tiled hallway, I completely bypassed the bathroom - sailing past the door with my arms flapping desperately in an attempt to grab anything that would stop me.

I landed in the kitchen - stopping my path with the windowsill, regrouped, made sure I didn't sprain anything and headed back toward the bathroom giggling at myself.

What I did not know was that ceramic tile is far more dangerous than linoleum. As I entered the bathroom, what ensued was a series of spins that were reminiscent of the Ice Capades. I was performing a one woman skating extravaganza in a space the size of a pantry. But this time I actually got to see it. Because we all know that bathrooms contain mirrors. Let's just say that I won't be going to the Olympics next time around...

The real issue, though, is that I did not learn my lesson. I still have not. Everytime I walk out of the living room and into the hallway, I turn into Picabo Street. Each time I set foot in the bathroom, I pirouette three times seeing my own reflection pass by in the medicine cabinet. What is my issue?

I said to my mother on the phone on Saturday, "I am going to fall and hit my head and die and nobody will discover me until it is too late and then I will be the sad pathetic girl who died alone on the slippery floor." Yesterday, I fell. I was in the middle of a "let's scrub the apartment from floor to ceiling" cleaning frenzy. As I hurried down the hallway after retrieving the Scrubbing Bubbles Flushable Wipes from under the kitchen sink, my feet gave out from under me - shooting forward and sending my ass crashing to the floor. Of course, in a futile effort to grab anything within arm's reach to break my fall (there is nothing in the hallway to grab, by the way), I banged my arm HARD on the bathroom door jamb. I am looking at the scrape now.

Perhaps, my battle wound will be my lesson. Maybe now I will have learned not to be in such a hurry to get from the living room to the kitchen.

Then again maybe I should just go invest in some rubber soles.