Grace Under Foot

The only person surprised was me, my mother knew from my early days that I am graceless. Really, she is often heard calling me “Grace.” It’s amazing I did so well in dance as a child and teen.

An avid horse person in my formative years I could often be seen falling off. Ice-skating, I was the kid whose finger was cut by a blade of the couple Ice Dancing behind me. Yes, I fell in front of them and she ran over my finger. The whole nonevent could have been avoided by 1) someone telling me how to turn and 2) just keeping me off the ice in the first place. And because no one listens to that mumbo jumbo about looking both ways before bolting across the street, I’m the kid on the block who got run over by a car (and I mean laying on the ground looking at the oil pan run over) and by no means think I do things half assed the driver was a cop. Poor guy. Really what is more important: Looking both ways? Or Soups on?

So there is the evidence of a problem that has not gotten better with age, but only become more pronounced. Ducky often offers to get me a walker with training wheels for my next birthday. Give me a new pair of shoes and I’ll fall all over you.

Now as strange as it may sound this habit of falling is compounded by the fact I’m eternally in the dark. My eyes have always been light sensitive and my night vision (though not what it use to be) is excellent. But not right after I turn of the lights. So you can imagine the walls I don’t see immediately post lights out.

Monday night I was so tired I rushed brushing and rinsing. I turned off the light as I stepped out of the bathroom entry, paused just long enough to release the girls from bondage, and turned back into the bathroom to place my bra on the counter. It never made it that far. I never saw the doorjamb that ran in to my already Romanesque nose.

I distinctly remember a sharp click sounding, resounding, and later pounding the pain through my face. But it is a memory in after thought, because all I could do is hold the sides of my nose in an attempt to pressure the pain away and not cry. When I could finally move out of my crouch to turn the light on again. I found no blood pouring from my nose, only a slight chunk missing from below the bridge of my nose and a purple knot. For all the pain I endured the darn thing should be broken.

Remember how Cher had that awesome nose with the bump on the ridge (you know before she fixed it and ruined her looks?) Well add a black bruise and you get a full mental image, well except Cher’s stunningly beautiful and doesn’t have saggy girls.

In pain,
Cele