Ms. Abigail has suffered the undignified female response to an antibiotic regimen, necessitating a trip to the grocery store to restock our yogurt supply. Guess what I did, right in the middle of the dairy aisle at the Bi-lo?
Coordinated, ever graceful me, managed to fall down. Luckily I caught myself with my FACE and my right knee.
Was the floor wet, you ask? No.
Did someone spill something, a coke or a glass of sweet tea? No.
Some small fry wrapped around your leg, greatly inhibiting your ability to balance yourself? No.
Remember those lovely black peep-toe pumps I purchased last summer? They're a death trap. Doing nothing more complicated than walking, I managed to get the heel of my right pump caught in the insole of the left one. Which meant the stupid laws of gravity and momentum carried me face and knee first into the floor. Talk about embarrassing. Luckily nothing more than my pride was damaged beyond repair. My knee, however, is swollen and I am using it to my advantage. While I sit here typing with an ice pack on the bruised appendage, Rob has already bathed the boy and cleaned up the kitchen. Our washer broke this morning, so he is taken the half-washed load over to his mother's later.
I would love to sign up for one of Stomper Girl's tap classes. But can you imagine the disasters awaiting me in a pair of tap shoes?
6 months ago