The Art of Falling

They say pride goeth before a fall, in my experience, it’s the feet. The pride goes later when you realize you had an audience. I don’t just fall; I have a flair for the dramatic. Luckily, I’ve never broken anything—knock on wood, or maybe more appropriately, my rubber bones. Oh, I’ve sprained a few things like my ankles, my muscles and most often my ego, yet like Timex, I take a licking but keep on ticking.

If falling was an Olympic sport, I would be on a Wheaties box. I don’t just miss a step on the stairs and stumble down them, my feet go out from under me and I shoot down like a raft through white water. On one fateful day, I saw what I thought was a spider on the crown molding in my den. I grabbed a paper towel, climbed up on the back of a cushioned easy chair. Did I mention I was on the phone with my neighbor? I realized it was not a bug just as my foot slipped off the top of the backrest. I fell backside first in between the chair and a small end table. My conversation with my neighbor continued and she never realized I had just booty bombed my floor.

My husband and I were walking on a mountain trail—we’re not really hikers—when I lost my footing. I was able to grab on to a bush to prevent a quick trip to the bottom and possibly a trip to the ER or worse. My husband was doubly thankful—that I wasn’t hurt badly, and that he wouldn’t end up on 48 Hours swearing he didn’t push me. I limped away with a bloody knee. Just recently, I was dragging a hose across my backyard to water my flower beds. My foot encountered the hose, and I immediately went down sideways not even attempting to break my fall.

I’ve fallen over things, off of things, and even up the stairs (it’s not as hard as it sounds).  Chevy Chase made a career out of pratfalls and physical comedy. I don’t get paid for my missteps, but occasionally I do get laughs. One day, I’ll probably have to get one of those buttons for when ‘you’ve fallen and you can’t get up’, but for now, I’ll just keep holding on—to the stair railing.

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