Alice in EnchantmentLand

If there is one universal truth about the Sisters besides the obvious ones about reading, writing and baked goods, it is that we are all clumsy.

Seriously clumsy.

Alarmingly clumsy.

Ava and I went to the FedEx office today.  We needed some big boxes to ship stuff home from our work trip in Albuquerque. I hopped out of the car to grab them and left the other gals in the running car. I very calmly strode across the exceedingly flat, unblemished sidewalk and fell into an invisible hole.

Do you know that surreal feeling you have when you’re falling, like everything goes into slow motion and you have enough time to talk to yourself? Maybe not. Maybe that just happens to me. I don’t know. If you’re perfectly normal and have never experienced this phenomenon this is how it generally goes.

“Oh, look, I’m faaaaaaalling,” myself helpfully comments like a sadistic sports commentator. “I’ll never catch myself in time.”

BAM! You kiss the pavement.  “See, I told you,” myself notes, all bitchy and smug.

Now, this next part is getting regrettably slower as I grow older, but it’s still vitally important. I must now launch myself back up into a standing position and look around to make sure no one else saw. You know how cats always look like they meant to do that when they hurt themselves? That’s me.

No matter what kind of wound I have, there could be spleen jutting from my side and my shin could be hemorrhaging, but I will insist to all witnesses that I am perfectly fine and that they should STOP LOOKING AT ME.

Another absolutely vital part of the recovery process, if there was indeed witnesses, is to inspect the ground with the vigor of Sherlock Holmes, desperately searching for something to blame.

Well, today I went down to a knee, hard. My ankle was also quite screamy, but the knee took the brunt of the assault. To make my humiliation complete, there were two people, mere paces away, that saw me go down. The only thing to blame my gracelessness on was a rather smallish and unassuming maple leaf.

I returned to the car with the boxes and no dignity.

“Yeah, too bad for that van right there,” I told Ava and gestured to a white panel van blocking the car’s view of my

Here is my fat, little leg with the world’s biggest band-aid.

communion with the invisible hole, “otherwise, you could have seen me fall down.”

Do you think my Sister or my other “friends” expressed concern? Sort of, I guess, through their guffaws and snickers.

Then we went to lunch in a little cafe by the office we’re using. There was a fire truck in the parking lot but Ava wouldn’t let me stop and ask them for a band-aid. There was also a veterinarian next to the cafe, but they wouldn’t let me go in there either.

Afterwards, we went to Target and I bought enormous, knee sized band aids, hydrogen peroxide, and a wee bottle of “Pain Relieving First Aid Antiseptic Spray”. 

Do you remember the last time you fixed up one of your kid’s boo-boos? Remember how you told them the peroxide didn’t sting? You, dear Internet, were a big, fat liar.  That shit is awful.

Also, recall how the antiseptic was advertised as “Pain Relieving”? Maybe it is after it sears the remaining skin from your wound like a nuclear blast. After that, dipping your wound in hot lava would feel less painful.

Every single one of my friends has a story that ends with me wounding myself. It’s not easy being the comic relief.

How steady are you on your feet?  No, not after a few drinks but in general.  Does there need to be a boulder for you to fall over or can it be a speck of dust like the Sisters?  Do you let people help you up and then plan to sue or are you like Amylynn, popping up all mortified with a rib sticking out claiming you are just fine?