It was a big day. I had a, wait for it, a date! Actually, it was a second date, but who’s counting? Anyways, I did the whole pre-date routine: shower, hair, nails, makeup, outfit(s). I finally felt ready to go. I slinked into a pair of brand new jeans. Yeah, I bought new jeans for the date. So what. ANYWAYS, my super hottie date arrived and I slid into my jacket, grabbed my perfectly accessorized handbag, and proceeded to the door. I slowly opened my door and spied my date. Then, with a fanfare truly fit for royalty, I placed my left foot out the door and onto the step. My brown suede stilettos encountered a substance they were not comfortable with treading on: ice. Like a bird shot mid-flight, my wings flapped fervently in effort to NOT tumble down the three steps to my untimely dating demise. Much like that bird shot mid-flight, my efforts were futile. I was going down. This was happening.
I hit the steps like an elephant on roller skates. Limbs flailed. A handbag flew. Screams of terror rang throughout the tundra. Horror set in.
My date quickly swooped in to my rescue. He delicately helped me out of the wreckage that was my person, and steadied me with his strong arms. I was mortified. This wasn’t happening. I did NOT just completely fall on my face in the presence of my suitor. Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve such a trauma this time?
As we carefully made our way back inside the house, I assessed the damage. There was a casualty. It wasn’t me. It was my new pair of jeans. Freshly de-tagged, my jeans had a tear in the knee that rivaled the Hoover Dam. I immediately descended into panic mode. THIS pair of jeans look great with the rest of my ensemble. That’s why I chose them. The horror. I knew I couldn’t change my whole outfit. That would seem a bit extreme, not to mention I hadn’t time to try on, model, and coordinate an entire NEW look in a short five-minute time span. WTF.
I climbed the stairs and made my way to the bathroom. My knee was bleeding like some sort of ancient Pagan sacrifice. Great. A few band-aids later, I was dressed and heading back down the stairs. Besides the bloody knee and the ankle-to-shin bruise on the opposite leg, I was ready to rock out. Unfortunately, the bruise to my ego was far deeper than the one on my leg.
On the bright side, my date went great! My date kept a firm grip on me every time I tried to operate my legs. It wasn’t such a bad side-effect of my bruised ego 😉