I belong on the Olympic team. (Of, like, Malta or something equally unpopulated, but whatever).
Waking up with a black knee, now that's standard me. I am a klutz. Get two drinks in me, and I'm a walking disaster.
(SIDEBAR: most people would argue I'm a disaster anyway. There was that one time where I flung food across my boss' dining room not once. Not twice. But three disparate times. Don't think you can throw food in three unique ways? Well here's a rundown: I tried to cut a carrot. Fork on one side, and the other piece flew across the table. I turned as bright red as the strawberry I hurled when grabbed the serving spoon a tad vigorously. At this point, I was so flustered I just wanted to melt into the floor and die. So I volunteered to scoop the ice cream. Of course, it was half-frozen, which meant that in fighting with the scooper, I catapulted french vanilla all over the floor. Nancy, you're a saint. I wholeheartedly deserve to be banned from social settings.)
(SIDEBAR: most people would argue I'm a disaster anyway. There was that one time where I flung food across my boss' dining room not once. Not twice. But three disparate times. Don't think you can throw food in three unique ways? Well here's a rundown: I tried to cut a carrot. Fork on one side, and the other piece flew across the table. I turned as bright red as the strawberry I hurled when grabbed the serving spoon a tad vigorously. At this point, I was so flustered I just wanted to melt into the floor and die. So I volunteered to scoop the ice cream. Of course, it was half-frozen, which meant that in fighting with the scooper, I catapulted french vanilla all over the floor. Nancy, you're a saint. I wholeheartedly deserve to be banned from social settings.)
Anyway, once I have two drinks, I completely dismiss my klutzy history. I'd probably be safer diving to the floor, with the falls I've taken.
K, I love you for all the tables I fell off of when we were dancing. And the sofas. And when I just fell in general walking across a dance floor. Generally speaking, I probably owe you my life several times over for saving me from a broken neck.
I thought I was over that phase. You know what I'm not over? Eating immense volumes of food at 1:30.
So back to that black knee. I had a great night -- introduced some friends, had a blast, the usual. I don't know who was being irresponsible, but I was put in charge of carrying the 30" pizza back from Basic.
Cue the wipeout.
Heels. Curb. Me. To say I took a tumble is the under-exaggeration of the century.
Now, somewhere in that little Darwinian brain, my immediate reaction was "FOOD" and how it took 45 minutes to get this pizza in the first place. Ladies and gentlemen, if you've heard me drunk you've heard me say:
"I don't do lines."
Yea, I'm that obnoxious girl. So, I'm hungry, I'm impatient, I'm holding what smells like the best pizza this side of Italy, and I'm about to share it with the San Diego asphalt.
So thank you, evolution, because every alarm bell in my body went off and I pulled off the impossible. I fell, twisted, lifted, jerked and landed on one knee (with my other leg splayed out in front of me) -- this is the moment you thank god for pants -- half on my hip, half on a knee, completely astrew.
You could have put a level on that pizza, it was so damn flat and steady above my head. Straight 10's, for execution, style and landing.
