I've finally figured out that my purpose in life is to fall down.
In front of large groups of people.
Just last week, I took a tumble in the lobby of a hockey rink, right in the middle of about 100 other parents. Actually, "tumble" is too mild a word. I pretty much just crashed to the ground like a C130 with all engines smoking and landing gear up.
The funny thing was, in the 1.5 seconds between standing and then pressing my cheek to the concrete floor, I had time to think about a bunch of things. No, not my whole life flashing before my eyes - I'm old, I'd need to fall off a 100-story building to have time for that. No, I was thinking about the last time I fell down in public, and how, once again, I was either going to 1) wake up later in the hospital, or 2) find myself staring at some strange man's shoes as he assisted me to my feet, while I was wishing I could crawl under the bleachers and hide among the KitKat wrappers. I was desperately hoping for Option #1, so as to avoid having to face all the people who were about to witness my unintentional stage-dive-without-the-stage.
Naturally, I ended up with Option #2.
And get this. When I told my kids what had happened, they said, "Oh, man, we can't believe we missed it!" A broken pencil gets more compassion around here than I do.
Anyway. Thank you for all the kindly concern over my foot. I think it's getting better, but right now I'm hardly noticing it. My attention has been focused on the blue racing stripe I'm sporting down my right thigh, and the way my right shoulder feels like it was ripped off and used to bludgeon my rib cage.
My big worry now is that my various groups of acquaintances are someday going to cross paths. If that happens, they might start sharing "Remember When TC Wiped Out In Front of the Deli Meat?" stories, and before I know it, they'll be buying me a walker with tennis balls on the bottom of the legs for my next birthday.