Tuesday night I had an accident… but not that kind of accident.
I didn’t crash my car, I didn’t soil myself, and I didn’t make out with anyone inappropriate.
I did, however, step into an unseen hole in my lawn. (It was dark and there may have been a bit of gin involved.) I lost my balance and went flying onto the sidewalk, whereupon I skinned my knee and gruesomely shredded the palm of my hand. I fell with such force that I also hit my chin on the ground, jarring my head and neck. Mercifully, my chin landed on the grass on the other side of the sidewalk, and I didn’t shred my face. (Thank the good Lord for small miracles and stuff.)
My dog sat patiently next to me as I lay on the ground. I explained to him, “Mommy went crashy-bam-bam and needs a minute to get up. She has an ouchy-boo-boo.” Crashy-Bam-Bam is a term he’s familiar with, given that he was an enthusiastic and rather clumsy puppy. And now that he’s sporting three-inch scars from his recent cancer surgery, he has heard a lot about ouchy-boo-boos from me as well.
(I like to think he understands me, but it may all be science fiction. Also? I’m quite aware that I sound like a lunatic when I talk to him.)
Finally, after a few moments passed, I managed to pull myself to my feet and we finished our walk with me feeling rather sorry for myself.
A large bruise has since formed on my kneecap, and my hand is mummified in gauze. It’s all terribly sad. (Or at least I think so.)
I’ve always been clumsy. It’s just not something you outgrow, especially if you’re fond of sapphire and tonic.
So anyway, I’m wounded.
Wanna send me flowers?
I like peonies, and they’re in season.
And now I’ll stop wallowing in self pity and get some work done.