How I Roll

Sometimes, in a crowded mall, I pretend that a gunman has opened fire.  I do a quick somersault and take cover behind a large fern or kiosk.

Every once and awhile, my chest floods with inexplicable glee.  On these occasions, I turn cartwheels across the room.  

Help!  I'm on fire!!  I become a rolling pin and and smooth my front yard out like dough.  

I've never been pushed down a hill before, but I would try to spin end over end and flail helplessly if it happened.   This wouldn't be for my benefit.  This visual cliche would be for the accidental bystander who may be unsettled by someone not reacting to a shove down a hill in the proper way.  I'm nothing if not considerate of others.  

When speeding down a country road, I like to jerk the wheel suddenly and turn my car into a young gymnast learning to do round-offs.  I only do this in my dreams, mind you, but you can still imagine how surprised everyone is when I walk away from the wreckage without a scratch.

Does a backflip count as rolling?  Because that's what I do every time I convince someone that the vanilla ice cream I've just given them isn't actually vanilla, it's white chocolate.