You know, the coolest thing since Parkour except you just lay there. That's my kind of extra curricular activity.
Everyone that knows me, knows I am possibly the clumsiest person on the earth. I fall. All. The. Time. If there is a crack in the sidewalk, the front of my shoe will find it. It's not that I'm not observant.
I just don't pay attention. I'm just focused on other things, like talking and taking in the scenery. I'm not staring at the ground.
I'm CONFIDENT. I'm even confident when I fall. I make a big joke out of it. I never
often cry.
This one time (at band camp) at Friendly's, my co-workers and I were walking out of the restaurant. The leeft heel of my superfabulous, plastic-heeled sandals slid right out in front of me, split-style. My right leg tried to compensate, and down I went like a spontaneous proposal.
I'd like to say it was graceful, but I'm positively certain that my throat let loose a wild, "WHOA!" as I went down. I lay there for a bit. Once I had gathered my senses, I burst into laughter, got up and turned to the rest of the restaurant and bowed. I'm sure there was an arm flourish because I'm all about the artistic details.
The manager rushed over to be sure that I wasn't going to sue them. I had to sign some papers saying I wouldn't sue Friendly's and I was told that I would be getting a call from their Risk Management people. My friends say that the floor was wet, but I don't think it was. They were slippery shoes and I was not paying attention and flapping my gums. Friendly's was really great about the whole thing.
That afternoon, my knee swelled up to the size of a large grapefruit. Hubs took me to the ER and I left with a fluffy new accessory. The leg brace.
A couple weeks later, I came home after a particularly aggravating Open House (during my
dark days of being a real estate "volunteer.") I whipped off my spiky heels, threw on a pair of flip flops and grabbed a Manhattan. (My father-in-law had made them in honor of the Phillies making the playoffs that year.)
I walked outside, took a sip, stepped off the deck and
hit the deck. I flung my arms out and threw my Manhattan across the yard, but I held on to that glass!
I lay there sprawled out on the river-stones that hubs had probably raked that day while hubs tried to keep his giggles at bay. My ankles had rolled.
Both.Of.Them. When I regained my composure and stopped wailing like a two-year-old, I exclaimed, "I only took one sip!"
Again, a couple days later, I ended up in the ER with swollen ankles. They asked me if I felt safe in my home. I told them I didn't feel safe around myself! I then promptly told them I was joking and no, I was not trying to harm myself, yes I feel safe in my home, I'm a clutz with poor fashion choices. I left with another flufyish accessory, the air cast.
There are other stories, like when I tripped up our basement steps, knocked the door open and flew into the wall leaving a shoulder size hole in it all the time yelling, "I'm FINE! I'm FINE!" Hubs had fun fixing that one. There was the time, in college, when I tripped after walking over the railroad tracks, did a flip in the air and landed on my knees, but still kept my lit cigarette. (My friend peed her pants laughing, by the way.) Aaaand of course there is the story of my "trip" to Key West. We've all heard about that one.
So, you see, I really invented Planking. Maybe I'm in more of the Interpretive Planking section. Had I known it would have taken off, I would have absolutely publicized it before anyone else.
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