Epitome of Grace

I would like to thank my parents for not naming me Grace. Grace is a lovely name but in my case it would have been an oxymoron.

What you need to understand is that I'm a klutz. I'm Megan the Klutz without the public humiliation and desire to be a Vargas Girl. The Wii constantly asks me if I trip over my own feet after I do the balance test. Yes I do, stupid Wii. I also trip over cracks in the sidewalk and imaginary things. So what?

Stairs and I...we don't generally get along. I avoid stairs in malls because they give me vertigo. The stairs at many historical sites resulted in a few breakdowns. I was stubborn and went up and down them anyway and quite memorably when from the very top of one of the towers of Notre Dame straight down to the bottom without stopping only to burst into tears when I was 20 feet away from the church and demanded that Lee find me wine. Immediately. Thank goodness it was Paris and you can find wine everywhere.

My ability to trip over nothing means I frequently fall up the stairs.This isn't too bad except when I catch myself with my right hand which makes my wrist unhappy. Or when they stairs are cement and I scrape myself. I do try to be very, very careful with stairs. Really, I do.

The stairs between the first and second level in our new house make me a bit nervous. Besides the fact that I generally don't have a good relationship with stairs these do give me a tab bit of vertigo. I am careful on the stairs. I guessed it was only going to be a matter of time before I take a tumble down them. I kind of figured it would be at night when I'm stumbling to the bathroom, the door to which is right at the top of the stairs. I've privately wondered if maybe a gate wouldn't be a good idea.

Friday night I wanted to do nothing more than laze around on the couch in comfy clothes and watch M*A*S*H reruns. October has been a long month with both Lee and I travelling quite a bit, which is pretty unusual for us. This was the first weekend we've both been home in weeks and I just wanted to be lazy. But we had ballet tickets (we're subscribers) so up the stairs to throw on a dress and make myself look presentable.

Now, I rarely wear pantyhose. I dislike them but well, they add a layer of warmth. It was chilly on Friday. I couldn't be on the couch under a blanket but I'd be darned if I was going out in bare legs. So on came the stupid pantyhose and I headed to the stairs to go down and do my makeup.

And that's where it went all to hell.

I don't know what happened. All I know is that I was going down the first step and then the next thing I knew my feet were out from out of me and I was flying through the air.

You know in cartoons how people slip on a banana peel and catch air? That's what I did only I landed halfway down the stairs. And then slid down three more.

I may be a klutz but I also have a pretty good sense of self preservation which when things happens translates to a voice screaming in my mind, "NOT THE HEAD! NOT THE HEAD!" So I didn't hit my head.

My ass broke my fall. I slammed down on the stair and being so talented ending up hurting my butt, my right wrist and my left ankle. How I managed that combination is beyond me.

I sat on the step and cried. Piper was freaked out. Lee was freaked out. Our friends who who he was talking to on the phone and kinda hung up on were a bit freaked out. But I was fine. I got up, walked upstairs to bed, curled up into a ball and cried.

And then I walked down the stairs carefully, put on my damn makeup and headed out the door. I iced my wrist in the car and went to the ballet. I watched people with true grace on the stage and really wished I had thought to take some Advil.

I'm fine. I have a royal purple bruise on my butt. Me and my wrist brace have been spending some quality time together. I'm considering buying stock in Advil.

Grace continues to elude me but I was pretty thankful for the pantyhose. When we left the ballet it was snowing.