Warning: There is cussing in this post. A lot of cussing. I’m not bleeping it out.
I’m a klutz. It’s no big secret. I mostly never actually break anything.
I’ve scraped my entire face, fallen up the stairs and torn all the ligaments in my foot, gone splat on the dance floor in the middle of several weddings and bar mitzvahs, and smashed my foot into a chair, breaking it, right before a Disney trip. I’ve skiid into the forest and over someone who has fallen. I’ve nearly sliced my finger off on the rough edge of my trunk at camp, cut open my hand trying to serve watermelon, and almost halved my hand halving bagels. We won’t even mention my driving including wrapping my car against a pole and hitting a stationary garbage truck.
However, its my ass that seems to be getting the brunt of my clumsiness.
About 9 years ago, I heard my cell phone ringing on my front hall table. I went careening down the stairs to answer it, not knowing that the nanny had just washed the tile floors. This was me. I saw tweety bird.
My ass was broken. Well, actually my Coccyx. I couldn’t lay flat on my back for a month. Fun.
A few years later, I was dancing at a Bar Mitzvah, and my best friend thought it would be fun to do the bump. You know, like from disco? Except she didn’t know her strength and sent me flying, in my Steve Madden Stilettos and skin tight skinny jeans across the dance floor, where I skidded to a stop, landing hard on my ass (coccyx, tailbone). Again. Just bruised this time, but still. Ouch. Super Ouch. I took to my bed.
Fast forward to last week. My broken ass has been causing me all manner of trouble over the past few years, giving me all kinds of old lady pain like a seized performis and an overly excited Sciatic nerve. I’ve been seeing an Osteopath as a walker isn’t really a life goal of mine. It’s finally on the mend.
It’s winter, its icy. I decide, on a whim, to walk to the mailbox. I’m moseying down my driveway, all casual like, and WHOOOSH. TIMBER. THAR SHE GOES. My feet fly out from under me, and I try to stop my fall with my iPhone. That strategy was fairly ineffective, as you might imagine.
This time, I didn’t see any tweety birds. It just hurt like the devil took me over. But, I still
walked hobbled to the mailbox. I am becoming stoic in my advancing years.
Which brings me to today. My ass was still aching from the ice fall of last week.
My dog was outside, barking. Usually, when the dog is barking, I like to yell really loud, from the door, ‘Shut up you little Fucker.‘ I do this because I like to imagine the neighbours thinking I’m talking to the kids like that.
I screeched variations such as ‘You’re a bad little fucker‘ and ‘Shut the fuck up you little asshole‘. but the little bugger just kept barking. Just one more family member to ignore me. I was in bare feet and pjs, and since this is a remarkably mild winter, I ran outside, as I was, to
scare the bark out of my little doggie’s bring him inside . (So you don’t think I’m a dog abuser, he wags his tail when I call him Fucker. I’m pretty sure he thinks that’s his name.)
Picture this: I’m running on the wood deck, ready to ‘reprimand’ the young furry lad, and WHOOSH. TIMBER. THAR SHE GOES. I hit a patch of goddammed black ice right in my own backyard. This time, not only do I land flat on my ass, but I smash my head and elbow on the deck too. You know, just to make sure I’m damaged. The dog, who isn’t the smartest canine in the shed, looks shocked. He’s not sure if I’m playing dead, or just playing, or if I’m down on the ground to give him a cookie. He thinks all of those are fun.
I saw more than stars. I saw my dead grandfather and the tunnel with a light.
I crawled inside to my couch, worried I was going to faint. Worried I was going to die as punishment for calling my dog a Fucker.
Of course, what do I do next? Call an ambulance, check out my injuries? I tweeted:
Then, not getting the sympathy I craved, I tweeted:
The morals of the story?
1. My ass is like Timex. It takes a Licking and keeps on Ticking.
2.. If you want to call your dog a fucker for barking, do it from inside the house.
3. If you must call your dog a fucker from outdoors, wear these Yaktrax. They’re hot.