Sunday, May 21, 2006


yeah. yeah yeah. I did it again. I fall flat on my face...after tripping over my own left foot.

I am so good at this shit.

This time, it was my boots. The laces came undone, but instead of untying, they just kinda pooled around my ankles in a lasso-deathgrip until the time came to put my er, right foot forward. Then I simply tripped on lasso, went on a minor upward trajectory before landing splat in the middle of a parking lot. flat.

deathly silence for 2 seconds.

Magicman staring down at me. "Are you ok?"

Tara laughing like crazy "God, that looks like it really hurt."

together "are you ok?"

What was really going on in my head was "thank god I'm wearing nice underwear".

not as random as you think when you consider that I was wearing a short plaid skirt...with my knee high boots. It's a hot look if I may say so myself...doesn't show much skin, but gives the impression that you are, all the while your flab is pretty much covered up and your good bits are pushed up and out, lean and long. Really quite appealing so long as you're not flat on tarmac in dead person white chalk outline pose.

Also not if you've got a silent suspicion everyone's looking at your ass because you're not too sure whether your skirt has flipped up or not.

So yes, my pain tolerance is pretty high...and yes, that was what was actually running through my head.

So I get into the car, and Tara asks if I'm bleeding. I look down, realise I am, and Magicman hands over the tissue box.

I'm trying my best to make light of the situation...

"OKAY Magicman, I get the idea! I promise I'm not bleeding all over your ride ok?"

and he's just giving me this traumatised look (I'm getting surer by the minute that he's seen my ass)

and BECAUSE Tara and Magicman both work with me, I'm also silently praying they don't spread it all over work. Turns out they don't, and I'm the only one having to explain mysterious scrapes and bruises on my knees.

"My boyfriend pushed me down the stairs" is my favourite, and since I'm staunchly single, I really don't think he minds.



Slinky said...

Never underestimate the importance of good underwear, our mothers were right. I myself am in favor of dressing for the worst-case scenario when wearing skirts that border on indictable offences. That way at least the first thought will be "Those are some CUTE knickers!" and not "God, that klutz still wears BeeDees?"

The altenrative, if you're of Jemma Jameson persuation, is to wear no underwear at all. Instant rbain shutdown - no one thinks anything at all.

Although you can bet like hell they will later.

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