slip slidin’ away
I think I’ve skipped the rest of my twenties, over the middle life crisis and straight into the elderly life.Casually leaning against the counter of my kitchen talking to Jessica on the phone I had my first chance to break my hip. At one point, I was a dead ringer for an out of shape James Dean, the next thing I know the phone is slapping against the cabinets. About half way down to the floor I realized that I was no longer standing, I try to correct that problem but thrashing my arms out to catch myself–which only became one big slapping motion into the sink which tosses my plates and bowls on to the counter.
Lying on the floor with my head resting against the dishwasher, hearing Jess on the dangling phone asking if I was there, I felt like an impromptu ad (produced by the fates) for the lifeline emergency pager. Except mine line would be, “I’ve fallen and I don’t think my self-esteem will survive.” At least Jess got a good laugh out of it (she equated the sound to an earthquake, though she failed to get me a richter scale rating)—that’s what I do, folks, I make you appreciate your own lives by letting you watch me stumble through my own.
At times like this, I have the feeling that life is the minutia between extreme acts of doofusism.
This is why I should be more careful on making sure that olive oil never hits the floor and why I hate socks.