I have this pair of riding boots, which is to say that that is their style, not that I have ever worn them while riding a horse, or a motorcycle, or a lumberjack. These boots, I fear, were not made for walking. A few days ago, while walking to class, the heal of my boot got caught right around the sixth step from the ground. I would like to say that I caught myself on the railing. I would like to say that I, at least, took the guy I was walking with down with me. Alas, it was just me and my fat ass, tumbling towards humiliation, landing on the edge of the first step with all my weight on my left shin. I think it went, left shin, right shin, left knee, turn, ass before I finally hit the bottom, at which point I was facing the steps that I'd just gracefully descended. I ignored the pain, and immediately sprang up like a gymnast who's hoping that the judges won't notice she fucked up her landing. "Oh my God, are you all right," was the most popular question posed by the onlookers.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." It's just my pride.
Are you ever disappointed to discover that you haven't really hurt yourself as badly as you think you have? As I walked toward the bathroom to pull down my pants and assess the damage, I was semi-convinced that the only reason I was standing was that I was in shock. I was hesitant to look down, afraid that I would see blood seeping through my jeans, due to the fact that I'd almost certainly partially severed my leg at the spot on my shin that took all the impact. Imagine my dismay when I got into the bathroom stall and dropped trow only to find that I'd scraped a bit of skin off my shin and my knee. This was kid's stuff, really. The sort of thing my fourteen-year-old self would have done with an eraser if she felt that people weren't paying enough attention to her. Annoyed, I pulled up my pants, flushed the toilet (not because I'd used it, but because I didn't want the other ladies to think that I had and then hadn't flushed,) and walked to class, taking a moment to consider throwing myself down the stairs, this time on purpose, in hopes of more dramatic results.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." It's just my pride.
Are you ever disappointed to discover that you haven't really hurt yourself as badly as you think you have? As I walked toward the bathroom to pull down my pants and assess the damage, I was semi-convinced that the only reason I was standing was that I was in shock. I was hesitant to look down, afraid that I would see blood seeping through my jeans, due to the fact that I'd almost certainly partially severed my leg at the spot on my shin that took all the impact. Imagine my dismay when I got into the bathroom stall and dropped trow only to find that I'd scraped a bit of skin off my shin and my knee. This was kid's stuff, really. The sort of thing my fourteen-year-old self would have done with an eraser if she felt that people weren't paying enough attention to her. Annoyed, I pulled up my pants, flushed the toilet (not because I'd used it, but because I didn't want the other ladies to think that I had and then hadn't flushed,) and walked to class, taking a moment to consider throwing myself down the stairs, this time on purpose, in hopes of more dramatic results.
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