The first time I dropped my camera, it was on the dock in Alaska, one day into what, up to that point, was possibly my grandest adventure.
Oh God oh God oh God, I prayed (and it truly was a prayer; for Who else could I call on for help?) as I looked at the jammed battery door.
I went back to my cabin, and carefully opened and reclosed it.
The camera was fine. A week later I came home, and the pictures were beautiful.
The second time I dropped my camera, it was in a hotel room in St. Augustine. It was falling out of the bag and I quickly tried to grab it, instead succeeding in flinging it upward only to miss it on its descent. It landed sickeningly on the hard tile floor.
Miraculously, the camera again survived.
But yesterday… oh, sadly yesterday… I dropped my camera.
Third time’s a charm, as they say.
I didn’t drop it on a hard smash-it-up surface, oh no.
Far worse.
I dropped it, while trying to put it safely away, into the sand.
The fine, microscopic, get-into-the-works-and-jam-things-up sand.
Yeah. Sorry to say but that camera is done.
Well, I wanted to get a new one anyway. This will just hurry my shopping spree along.
All’s well that ends well, right?
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