Help... I'm a fallen woman.
My bum hurts.
Its my own damn fault really - Mr Chemicals told me its because I'm always in a rush... and its true. I clunk, clang, bang, bump and trip my way through life because I'm goin' "full tit". Which confuses me really because I'm a self-confessed lazy-arse. Go figure.
I cut corners which is dumb because doorways aren't corners and it freakin hurts when you smash into them. I'm constantly whacking my toes on large objects that have always been there but for some reason have a subconscious bulls eye on them that my trotters are drawn to at speed.
Whomever invented elbows was a wanker. I figure with the amount of times my funny bone gets hammered I must do the chicken dance when I walk and lately it seems I have been having issues trying to extract the fingers of one hand out of a drawer before the other hand commits digit GBH.
Honestly what is my brain on?
I know there are people out there that would say that I'm lucky to actually have the abilities to experience clumsiness and for that I have the deepest empathy but far out man the truth is I'm shit scared of all of it...falling, pain, being broken, hurts, boo-boos, owies. Faaark that Freddy.
So to my story... Today... after a night of torrential downpour soaking the ground to ugg-boot unfriendly slickness, I decided that since I was running around 15 minutes early in my mish-mash pre-work routine (if you can call it that) I should get the rubbish out because I forgot last week and its startin' to funk up the neighbourhood...
So I, in my fluffy purple dressing gown, over sized boots, fresh out of the shower so all glory and no modesty underneath, grab me two bags of steaming household waste and aim to head out to the front gate... as I have done thousands of times. Let me paint you a picture of the events that followed. Here is a step-by-step and I MEAN descending each-actual-step, account of my greatest fear - falling down stairs:
Step One...
Speed: minimal
Balance: 40-60
Concentration: fuzzy - "What am I gonna wear to work? No idea. OK will start with undies and work up from there"
Feet: left - landed, right - in transit...
Step Two
Speed - air born
Balance - horizontal
Concentration - "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck"
Feet - waving to bus going past. Nice.
Step Three...
Speed - negative
Balance - irrelevant. Flat on arse
Concentration - do NOT cry out for your Mum
Feet - useless betraying tiny piglet good for nothing ugly sausage bits... well that's a bit harsh because its my fault for trusting that size 8 ugg boots have traction control. Fool.
Once the bus had gone by and my inner Godiva was shoved back into my dressing gown I peeled myself off the steps and hobbled inside all the while holding in the silent scream of pain threatening to alert the neighbours that I was a fallen woman (yeah right... like they didn't know THAT already ha ha ha - oh sorry, I digress).
Within the sanctity of my living room, in true Hollywood style I sank to my knees, put my face into an armchair where many butts have been before and howled like a banshee one lone cry....
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..."
Then a quick sob.
A hot flush.
A wave of nausea.
And then back out to the evil steps for attempt two. Wednesday - rubbish day. It had to be done.
I figured some smart arse statistics geek somewhere had spent literally TENS of DOLLARS and most of his first month in Uni researching the likelihood of a klutz falling down the same stairs on a post-injury-immediate second-run. And that a 47,000 thousand word thesis paper on the subject, paid for by my over-inflated SuperShitty rates would result in minimal risk of repetition - or just crappy luck and doofessness if it did.
Suffice it to say I remained statistically boring and the stinky garbage successfully made it to the roadside. But I know by the end of the day I'm gonna hurt. I told a male colleague that it felt like one of my kidneys was trying to explode out of my arse. Graphic but honest. Sharing is caring.
Of course what followed was the obligatory "you think THAT's bad well listen to this..." ('my story's better than your story' moment). Much more intense involving (of course) an ENTIRE stairwell, its evil nemesis footwear 'socks' AND (here's the kicker) heroism involving a small child. Yes. He happened to be carrying a 2-month old baby who remained completely unharmed during the ordeal. Now due to his entire body taking the full force of the fall, he was laid out flat for a week whereas I... with my budget injury of busted-arse-bruised-back-fat...just look like I've shit my pants when I walk. Score is even stevens though I reckon... 1pt to He-man (only because of the bubba), and 1pt for me for flashing the Hendo bus... at my age. Rockstar. A for effort.
I have an intense dislike for stairs.
In fact I come rather close to having a real-life phobia about them... I DO. I even googled it and found a name for my condition - hold on to your hand rails coz its a big bastard...
CLIMACOPHOBIA
Yup. A fear of stairs. A fear of climbing them, a fear of falling down them... and that's definitely me coz I'm packin' jobbies everytime I venture down stairs and woe betide if I lose concentration - case and point this morning's flight of the big purply bird.
However I'm pleased to announce that although I suffer Clima... Climax... Climbatree... oh crap... umm 'SSCS' (stairs scardy cat syndrome) I am so not 'BATHMOPHOBIC' which is like a total relief because THAT would be some serious shit. (FYI... nothing to do with baths... google it).
When I was little I remember I had no fear. I used to stand proudly at the top of our internal staircase at home, my little piglets shoved into Ma's size 8 platforms, usually dressed up pretending I was Marie Osmond, massive earphones wobbling on my head mostly cranking my brothers old school rock 'n' roll records and Dads 45s, shakin' my pudgy little butt and lipsyncing into my Andy Gibb microphone.
It gave me great joy... and immense pain. On a regular basis my over-enthusiastic performance would over power my balancing ability and my basketball belly would be the tipping point and off I would go... bouncing down the stairs like a human zorb in high heels.
Bump-de-bump-bump-bump-de-de-de de-bump... bump... crash. Silence. Then a tsunami siren.
"WwwwwwwwwwwwwwAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
And my older brother's bored voice barely audible over the wail...
"Maaaa-ummm... Flicks fallen down the stairs again."
Alas... my fear was borned. But not a bone done broketh in all my tripsy, whoopsy, roly, poly, crashy, bangy fuckups. Just my pride and always a sore arse.
I get knocked down, but I get up again - not bad for a chubba-wubba... but if given an option... I'll be in the elevator bitches.
Have a great day.
Stylz - out........................on her arse. Again.
xxx
