So, you may or may not know this about me, but I'm pretty clumsy. You'd think that a girl who practically lives in 4 inch heels would be limber and light on her toes...but I'm not. I'm actually like a graceful bull in a china shop. I often wake up with random, inexplicable, bruises that I can never quite figure out. It looks a little bit like my good ol' hubs uses my thighs for punching bags. Hmmm, that's a thought. Maybe he does. At night. When I'm unsuspectingly sleeping like an angel beside him. That would explain a lot...but I doubt it. I think I'm just clumsy.
Beyond my clumsiness is my love-hate relationship with stairs. Actually, if I'm honest...it's really more of a combative relationship. I hate stairs...and they hate me. In the almost thirty years that I have been alive, I have fallen down flights of stairs several times. Maybe even more than several. Whatever that would be quantified as. Let's see...I'm gonna say maybe somewhere between 8-10 times. No joke. A few of those times were down the same flight of stairs, so I'm not sure if those count...but I often find myself grabbing frantically for the banister as my life flashes before my eyes. Hell, I've even tripped and fallen while going up a flight of stairs. I'm just talented like that.
The first time I ever fell down a flight of stairs was at Club Park Avenue (us regulars called it CPA) in Tallahassee (RIP). This used to be the spot. In fact, it eventually was shut down by the fire marshall for going way over capacity (and underage drinking, most likely). So, needless to say, this place was always packed. My friends and I knew the bartender so we used to double fist LITs all night long. Did I mention that CPA had two flights of stairs: one in the front, one in the back? Right. Two. I fell down each of those flights of stairs at least 2-3 times apiece. I'm happy to report that I managed to never spill a drink, though. Priorities! When you're 19 and drinking illegally, apparently saving your cocktail from its demise is much more important than preventing yourself from tumbling down a flight of stairs to your death. Go figure.
Another time was when I was on vacation with my good friend [at the time] and we got this cool hotel room that had a loft-type setup with a bedroom upstairs. Why would we do such a thing? Yeah. My ass definitely made contact with those stairs. It wasn't pretty. I had a pretty good momentum going and my feet slipped out from underneath me and I catapulted down the stairs so fast that the wall had to stop me. Picture me, sitting against the wall with a surprised look on my face, feelin' all embarrassed and butt hurt (in more ways than one). She had a great laugh over that one, believe me.
Perhaps the worst time was about six years ago on Thanksgiving Day when I was rushing out of my apartment to head to the 'rents house for some turkey and fixins. That's right - rushing. We all know I had no business doing that in heels. So...yeah. Cue frightening tumble down the stairs. This one was the worst because I actually went head first...and these stairs were concrete (and really steep!). My life definitely flashed before my eyes. But I had the wherewithall to actually grab the poles in the railing and use my momentum to propel myself in the opposite direction (practially ripping my shoulder from the socket in the process), and I turned my body to where I was able to save myself from an untimely demise. Before you laugh, I twisted my ankle! Seriously. Like, legit twisted it. It was swollen and I walked with a pimp limp. My whole family took great pleasure in teasing me mercilessly all day until I finally gave up and went home to pout...in my heels.
I'll leave you with a visual. I'm pretty sure that this girl can totally empathize with my hate-hate relationship with stairs. To quote Aaliyah, "If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again." Happy Humbling Hump Day, folks!
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