I seriously think I should have left that outside wreath alone and let it remain unlit. Instead of going to all the trouble of going inside the house to get the kitchen stool, I decided to stand on the ledge of the dining room window as I rigged up the lighting for the wreath. You know. Like I was still 30 years old or something. Just as I was finishing up (successfully), I had this horrible feeling in my gut as I fell in slow motion to the hard cement, landing on my hip. And my right hand. And my left hand (but just a little).
I was laughing so hard at myself (Yes, that's the way I roll...) that it almost didn't hurt. At first. Then the reality of my situation started to sink in. The fact that I do have full blown Osteoporosis struck fear in my heart during the 7 seconds it took for me to hit the ground (5' later) with my hip. Then, my laughter became a mixture of a kind of hysterical laughing/crying as fear crept in.
I was so afraid to try and get up that I just crouched there until I could stop laughing/crying hysterically. Eventually I brought my hysteria under control and slowly began to rise. Ouch. Fine. I might have yelled "Shit!" at the top of my lungs on the way down as
the Alien and his family looked on. I cripped into the house and informed Mr. Snoots of my faux pas #3,498,778,111,562. He just looked at me with *that look* and said, "I guess we'd better go ahead and put the knives away now." Haha! Very funny. I think you just need to keep me away from window ledges.
After giving it a few minutes, so I could assess the damage, I decided there are no bones broken but I'm going to be really sore. And, Tuesday night is a huge formal affair we attend every year. I refuse to miss the last big party since I've missed all the others!! So, if I have to limp and take a handful of Advil, I'm going.
I ran to Walgreen's (actually I drove a car) and stocked up on cold packs for my injuries and whatever future injuries may occur (since I'm obviously entering that awkward stage). Now I'm worried about getting hypothermia from all the cold packs. Wouldn't that be bizarro?
Newscaster: "A 57 year old woman with a sagging wattle (waddle) and jowls died from hypothermia today as a result of too many ice packs on injuries she'd received earlier in the evening. Apparently, she was trying to fix her stoopid Christmas lights on the outdoor wreath without the security of a
net stepping stool. And thus, providing the opportunity for this accident. Her family will be available after they stop laughing, because it's just *so her*."
I'm certain that no one who knows me would be surprised. It's not like I don't overdo everything. All. The. Time. So, exactly WHEN does your brain convey the message that you're getting older to your body? And when does your body actually begin to accept this information? I'm waiting. I'm still waiting....
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