Do you know how long it takes to fall?
Like, an eternity.
Wait – no – a split second.
One of those.
This morning it was very foggy (and much icier – it all melted by the time I took this photo), and when I was backing out of the driveway I couldn’t see. So I stopped and wiped off the windows, then behaved as a paranoid person good wife should, I ran over to Lloyd’s car (he hadn’t left the house yet) to wipe off his windows, despite the fact that I was running a bit late.
Wipe wipe wipe.
Run run fall.
What the what?
Many thoughts ran through my mind during those years, like “What?” and “Is that my bag I just landed on?” and “Yep, that was the bag.” and “Dang it. My laptop is in there.” and “Ouch” and “The stars are still out.” and “I bet I broke the laptop.” and “Either that or my hip” and “I am really going to be late.”
I have never liked falling. My first skiing lesson (age 10?) was a disaster (sorry, Keren) because I did not want to fall, but it seemed like that was what every other minute consisted of. Once she got tired of watching me fall on the bunny hill, she encouraged me to try the midway hill. It’s not a difficult hill, but I believe I freaked out in a very embarrassing little-sister way, and she should get a medal for not just stabbing me with her pole. I believe I eventually just shoved my poles at her, sat on my skis, and sledded to the bottom.
I am nothing if not graceful.