I was coming off a great weekend where my guy friends and I went up to NYC for our friend Shwa's CD release party. Anytime I get a Manhattan fix and a friend releases a CD is an occasion to celebrate, and is sure to keep me in a good mood for few days. Plus, I've recently reached a bit of a milestone on a weight-loss plan I've been on since Thanksgiving, so I was feeling good. I put on my new, skinny Ann Taylor dress and some fetching little black pumps and set out to work today to bring the sexy to the office.
Then, during a work-mandated run to track down Saturday's NY Times at the library, I twisted my ankle stepping off the curb and executed a spectacular, ass-over-head/shoes-flying-off face-plant into the gutter. There was no stopping it. At some point mid-fall I knew I was about to make full-body contact with the ground, and there was nothing I could do about it. It was kind of emancipating for a moment, and then I felt nothing but pavement and deep, abiding shame.
I emerged with nothing more than a sore ankle and torn stockings, but even as someone who's had some legendary public falls, it was pretty awesome. Awesome enough to be rendered in crappy marker drawings. That's how awesome it was. Enjoy.
Robyn
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