gliding across the dance floor with anyone from 'dancing with the stars'? nope.
two left feet...on other people's feet? oh, you betcha.
i never was a coordinated kid. in a desperate attempt to make me so (and probably to make me less of a tomboy), i was enrolled in ballet. and tap.
in tap, i spent a lot of time on my bum. mostly because i couldn't do the time step well enough. i'd kick out, way out, and lose my balance and splat! on my bum.
ballet i did well at. mostly because i had the barre to hold on to. i'm sure if i had done pointe, well...you get the idea.
i spent a lot of time as a kid, skidding on my knees, laying the bike down or falling off of something. i'm sure my mom prayed every night for the Lord to allow me to survive my own childhood. i still have scars on my knees from a particularly bad tumble in the 6th grade.
in high school, i horribly sprained my ankle one day by landing in a gopher hole.
count on me to find the only hole in an acre radius.
as an adult, i was chaperoning some teenagers for a Rainbow girl function. we came in to a seminar late, so i had them sit down quick. the minute everyone started applauding for the speaker, i herded them quickly to our assigned seats and followed behind.
i stepped off a six foot scaffolding. to a cement floor below.
you know that moment when you do something really stupid? the moment when you've passed the point of no return and you have to surrender to the inevitable? oh yeah. i had that moment. as i heard the entire arena gasp as i fell.
the good thing, is that i didn't break anything. i did sacrifice a pair of pantyhose and had to wear an air cast on my ankle to support it.
am i done? oh hell no.
a few years ago, going out for a walk, i stepped off the curb. and you guessed it...twisted the same ankle i always seem to injure. then, i fell down the stairs at work.
i so should be in a padded room. for my own safety.
but i'd probably catch my foot in the padding, fall, and sprain something else.
so occasionally, i think to myself, that it's a good thing we don't have kids. there's a really good chance they'd be klutzy. like their mother. and spend a lot of time injured, bruised or bleeding.
so what's the point of this story?
none. i like stories. i just wish sometimes i was graceful. along with rich, thin and with perfect makeup and air.
ah fantasy. where would i be without you?