So, there was that one time I fell off a curb and destroyed my ankle. There was that other time I stepped in a pothole and fell down. And that other time when I slipped on some ice or something and fell down in a cross walk. All of those times I had at least one (if not a few or so) drinks in my system, but I had explained to everyone that the booze was not the cause of the falling down. I just fall down. My feet and body betray me and down I go! All those years of ballet training, and I am defeated by the least coordination-requiring tasks.
The newest entry into the log of gravity getting the best of me happened last night. I had spent the day on campus studying. My brain was getting tired and some delightfully terrible television was about to start so it was that time to head home. Upon exiting the building, I had to face three, yes, THREE, whole stairs. Stairs One and Two went just fine. But Three. Oh man. That last step. It was in cahoots with my left ankle, and together they proclaimed, "Down you go!"
And I did. Right there in front of no one (because it was like eight o'clock so there wasn't anyone sitting outside), I fell in an elegant display descending-stairs failure. The only thing I have to show for it is the stylish scrape on my knee.
It will not keep me from wearing shorts when I inevitably head outside in the warmth and sunshine to study. It does make it slightly painful to bend my knee. But there are worse things in the world, so let's just laugh at this one.