So evidently, in all my postulating about how I’m taking back my height and embracing wedges and heels of all shapes and sizes, I kinda forgot one thing.
Namely, that the taller you are…
… the harder you fall.
Yep, yesterday I bit it, and I bit it good. I was walking back to my car from Starbuck’s after doing a bit of writing there, and I tripped over my own two platform-wedged feet. My laptop was still in my arms, so obviously preserving that became my first priority and I ended up skidding to a stop on my knees. It really was like the world slowed down in the moment that I first started to fall. I felt like everything was in slow motion other than my brain, which was still whizzing at normal speed. It was yelling at me, “Look out, you idiot! The ground is hurling toward your face!” but since my body was still stuck in the time warp, there was nothing I could do about it.
It was triply embarrassing since there were, you know, people around me, too. One very nice woman rushed over to ask if I was okay, and I, red-faced and mortified, simply mumbled that I was fine and then ran and hid in my car. It wasn’t even until I got back home that I sincerely checked out the damage (and of course, it wasn’t until I saw my wounds that they actively started hurting). I honestly think that last time I skinned my knees was when I was like, 8 years old.
Okay, granted, the fact that the only band-aids I have at my disposal are Hello Kitty branded doesn’t do much to help dispel that whole general feeling of little kid-ness. Hehe.
Ah well, a couple of skinned knees never did anyone any harm, right? Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me to let my inner child out a little more. Or, just to watch where I’m going when I’ve made myself 4 inches taller than normal. Whatevs.