Last week I “danced like no
one was watching” and I stubbed my toe so badly that it bled. You know when you
hit your foot against the corner of the wall and it separates the big toe from
the toe beside it (the no name Presidents Choice toe)? Well, that is what
happened. No one was home and that infectious song “Happy” was playing on the
television. Jumping up, I began to dance around the living room, my two dogs
(who are confused and thinking I am having a seizure) are barking and darting
in and around my legs. Sweat begins to bead onto my forehead and I wonder, “exactly
how long IS this song?”. But still I continue to dance. Abandoning my fur lined
slippers, I begin to move much like I imagine Beyonce might move. My too short,
stained pajama pants with the ragged draw-string tied into a ball of knots
float about my body and I begin to twirl like Stevie Nicks. THAT is when it
happened! Pain like the pain of a thousand childbirths shot through my foot and
I crumpled to the floor: barking dogs now panicked because they are CERTAIN
that I am seizing and probably afraid that they will not get fed. Dizzy with
the pain, I attempt to see if I have truly injured myself. I see blood…….not a
lot of blood, not enough for a band aid, but there was some blood. Wiggling my
big toe and then the no name toe beside it, I check for broken bones and am
relieved that they both move freely (note to self: make a pedicure
appointment).
What the hell is happening to
me……I used to be agile like a very short, stout Ninja and now a simple Twerk
attempt is going to be my demise?
The previous week I tripped
going “up” a flight of stairs to an aircraft. Envision my laptop case on
shoulder, purse that technically should count as a carry on over the other
shoulder and carrying a suitcase that I am going to try to coax into the
overhead bin on the aircraft. Smiling…..pleased that my flight was on schedule
and we were boarding on time, I begin to climb the stairs. On the fourth step I
tripped and because my arms were full, I pitched forward in slow motion with my
chin coming to rest on the ledge below where the Flight Attendant was standing.
Her non-reaction indicated to me that she had seen this kind of thing happen
before and she waited for me to struggle to my feet. I understand she was practicing
a type of “tough love” and that I needed to realize that perhaps I was loaded
over my maximum GVW. I did get the impression that she might have been holding
back a snort of laughter/a guffaw (her shoulders were shaking so she was either
crying or laughing).
I managed to navigate the
final steps successfully and find my seat, where I now have to put everything
away. This is where the “objects may be smaller than they appear” thing
happens. I try to force my suitcase into the overhead bin. It SHOULD fit…..I
did size it using the metal sizing device located in the boarding lounge. The
Flight Attendant no longer looks cheerful and comes up beside me, “Is it too
large?”. The look on her face was
reminiscent of the look my sister Jessie would give me when she dared me to do
something. I matched her steely look with one of my own and responded, “no…..it
will fit, I KNOW it will”. Determined, I huffed and pushed, until finally it
slid down into the bin. Embarrassed that I scuffed up the edge of the opening
on the bin of what appears to be a brand new aircraft, I saw the Flight
Attendant glaring and imagined she was thinking, “this is why we can’t have
nice things”.
My point is….twice this month
I have taken a tumble and I am wondering if I need to enroll myself into one of
those “I have fallen and can’t get up” programs. Is this a slow metamorphosis
beginning to occur? Will my next order from Zappos be for Velcro closing
runners? Will I begin to wear my progressives ALL the time? Stay tuned……
