I fell down today. Again. I really don’t think that adults are supposed to do that. We’re supposed to have gotten over that whole awkward thing, and have recognized where our bodies are in the space of the universe and NOT fall down and go boom.
So I was walking off the ferry this morning with my son, and two ladies who were also commuting into town to their respective jobs. One of whom is a faithful jazzerciser, and the other a friend with whom I work and often carpool. It was a windy morning, for sure...grey and stormy (no rain, thank God) blowing that great smell of fish and garbage from the nearby fish packing plant and making me super glad that I made Jason late this morning by doing my hair instead of letting it air-dry. Anyway, we were walking across the street to the parking lot and I had my hands full, doing my usual pack-mule/sherpa routine, carrying a grocery sack containing all of my fruit, nuts and yogurt (good-girl snacks…yay, me!), a purse, Dylan’s backpack and a tall travel mug of coffee. The wind was blowing things out of my sack and whipping my pointlessly styled hair into my face as I said good-bye to one of the women and confirmed that I was indeed teaching jazzercise on the island tonight.
That was where it went bad.
I turned to say something to my friend and car-pool buddy, Buffy, and my heeled boot caught on the gravel and I went down. Hard. I did a Steve Martin sprawl across the gravel scraping both of my palms, tearing my grey dress pants, bruising my elbow, knee and hip in the process. Dylan started to cry, “Mommeeeee” and some guy in a truck stopped in the middle of the street to ask if I was okay. That’s always nice. Please, let there be as many people as possible see me and my stuff spread all over the filthy gravel parking lot.
I got up and shook myself off, gave a weak smile and a “See you tonight!” to the jazzerciser, then turned and asked Buffy to drive my Expedition so I could nurse my wounds. The concerned gentleman in the truck drove away and I gathered my stuff and limped into the car.
Sigh. If only this was my most humiliating recent fall, but it wasn’t. In January when I went to San Jose on business, my plane got in rather late. By the time I checked in to my hotel and met up with co-workers it was getting on toward 10:00pm, and they wanted to go to a club --- I just wanted a taco. Or something. Airline Snack Mix can only take you so far. So we were walking rather briskly down a busy city street towards some type of Caribbean place that actually turned out to be a bar. We had not even gotten inside when, as in this morning’s adventure, my heeled boot (different boots, of course…the brown Italian leather ones this time.) caught on the uneven, earthquake textured sidewalk, my ankle buckled, and I hit the pavement. In front of a bar. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I fell down in front of a bar and landed half in and half out of the gutter and partially in the street. Try telling anyone watching me (and there were several) that I had just gotten off a plane, consumed no alcohol that night, but fell into the gutter outside a bar. Yeah, that’s nice.
Ironically, Buffy was with me for both of these performances, and I’m pretty sure she’s starting to wonder about me. I imagine it’s hard to respect someone who can’t handle her own shoes. Sometimes I feel as though if there were a trailer to the movie of my life, it would include scene after scene of me falling down a ravine with my pants down, sprawling in front of a bar, tumbling across a gravel parking lot, sliding across an icy sidewalk in a skirt… just one great moment after another. Hmmmm…I wonder where the next tumble will land me. And I know there will be a next tumble, because no way am I giving up heels --- what, and give up all that glamour and sophistication? Forget it.
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