return of the klutz

Historically, I have always been a klutz. I have spent my fair share of time on crutches. I am the master of the sprained ankle. And contrary to what you may think, it (generally) has nothing to do with alcohol consumption. But in discussing the strength of my ankles yesterday, I started the same old "I fall down a lot" schpiel. But then I thought about it. I can't really say that anymore, because I don't remember the last time I sprained my ankle. (That's not true — I remember, but it's been a long while.) So I actually say "I used to fall down a lot." (Fate, Tempt. Tempt, Fate.)

As a seasoned reader, you should see this coming. But I didn't. This is what I get for even thinking I'm not the huge klutz I used to be. Fast forward to later in the evening, innocently heading back to the car; me in heels, as that one critical step lands half-on/half-off an asphalt wheelchair ramp. Now hit the slo-mo, as I *almost* catch myself as one ankle gives way, just to land the other foot on the same edge, and have the other ankle do the same thing, and I land smack on my ass, with one leg under me. Somehow, I scraped the toenail polish off the top of the toes on one foot — how does that even happen?!?

The silver lining is that I have advanced light years from the me of a couple of years ago; I didn't burst into tears. Not from embarrassment, not even from pain. After checking each ankle for protruding bone slivers (none — whew!) I gathered myself up and hobbled gingerly to the car. No ER visit, no ruined evening. That doesn't suck. ;)