Tuesday, September 13, 2011

I have a well documented history....

....of falling. While most people seem to have an innate understanding of Newton's law, and the ability to remain upright, I do not. Allow me to re-cap merely a few of the incidents that have occured in the past 36 months:

1. I once fell 3 times in the span between my parked car in the driveway and the front door of my home, a distance of approximately 40 feet. Granted, it was winter, my hands were full, the walkway was snow covered and my feet were what would later become known as the "Danger Boots". But still.

2. This one was only a near-fall. I was crossing the street to work with a piping hot coffee in my hand when I slipped and grabbed ahold of the nearest body, should I need someone to break my fall. Unfortunately, the nearest person was an elderly woman. No, I am not beyond bringing an osteoperosis-ridden senior down with me. I am not a good person.

3. When I fell in an aquantance's kitchen, in full view of 3 or 4 men in the adjoining living room. On this occasion, I brought down a kitchen chair with me, sent another careening across the room, but managed to not spill even a drop of the bloody mary in my hand. (I should note that unlike many of my encounters with the floor, this one had nothing to do with alcohol however).

4. About 2 hours after finding out I was pregnant I slipped in a puddle of dog pee and landed flat on my ass. The boy simply looked away and shook his head.

*It bears noting that I fall so often that people around me seem to have become de-sensitized to it and no longer express alarm or concern for my well being. Trust me, this says more about me than it does about their character.

5. Last fall while visiting some of the boy's relatives in a neighbouring town, I managed something new. I feel from a sitting position. While poising myself to get up from where I had been perched on their porch steps, my flip-flop clad feet skidded out from underneath me and I literally summersaulted down 3 stairs, absolutely demolishing two of the homeowner's potted plants in the process.

That brings us to yesterday's incident. I must preface this tale by saying that normally the Boy is one of the kindest, most thoughtful, caring people I've ever met. So please do not let the following cloud your perception of him.

He had removed our back deck stairs to access something underneath. He then reattached them temporarily so we could still get to the yard, but so they could also be re-removed if required. He assured me, however, they were safe. I believe my verbatim response was, "Good, because if anyone will fall down them, it will be me."
Not even an hour later, I would realize what a gross understatement this was. I didn't just fall down the stairs. While clearing the patio table, I inadvertently brought my heel down on the "very safely secured" (the Boy's words, not mine) edge of the top step. An eight of a second later, me & my armful of empty dishes were 3 feet down, legs splayed in the air, stairs completely obliterated, covered in mud, bruises already beginning to form.
This is when the boy appeared above me (it's always more humiliating to be berated when someone is standing above you, isn't it?) and shouted, "What the hell are you doing?!".
As if I had intentionally thrown myself off the deck, destroying a deck chair and scattering some two-by-fours in the process.
I calmly explained that it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't even been trying to use the stairs, I reminded him of the fact that while he had assured me of the stairs safety, I could have been seriously hurt and that his reaction was somewhat unexpected and hurtful.
At thi spoint he turned to walk back inside to resume whatever he had been doing before I so rudely dragged him away. Over his shoulder I hears him say, "Wipe yourself off before dinner, you've got mud all over you."

Ahh, true love.