Comeuppance

So, remember how I was all proud of myself because I walk like a dancer? Remember that? Remember how I was preening over my grace and beauty? (Oh, right. I don't remember that part, either.)

Today I tripped. And fell. Tripped on the too-long hem of my too-long blue jeans. And fell flat on my face, in the hall, in front of two principal dancers and what seemed like a million members of the corps de ballet. And no, this wasn't just a "whoops, there goes Abbersnail," kind of trip. This was epic. This was Abs goes flying across the hall, attempting to dislodge her high heel from her pants leg, flailing her arms, and generally causing pandemonium. This was a collective gasp from a bazillion itty-bitty ballerinas. This was a WHAM on the floor that may or may not have been mistaken for an earthquake.

I'm fine, thanks for asking. My pride is perhaps a bit bruised. As is my left elbow. And my ass. And maybe my right knee.

And if you're sitting there attempting to figure out exactly how I managed to bruise that collection of body parts in one fall, believe me, you're in good company.

Serves me right for feeling all glamorous and stuff. Or whatever it was that I was feeling.

sigh